Passing Through
by hbm1396
Summary: Santana and Brittany begin senior year with a fresh start, which somehow involves Santana dating the New Girl and getting dating lessons from Brittany to do it.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a mostly uneventful summer, as most summers in Lima were. There had been a few Glee Club pool parties at Brittany's house, where the girls tanned and the guys played mini-basketball in the pool. Santana wondered if they knew how… well, _gay_ they all looked, splashing all over each other trying to gain control of that little plastic ball. Surely the macho boy assholes would be horrified. She gave some consideration to telling them, just to see their reactions, but there really wasn't much fun in seeing people freak out over the possibility of being gay anymore. It just hit a little too close to home these days. So she just rolled over and worked on evening out her tan. She never got her privileges back from Sue Sylvester even when she was on the Cheerios, so.

Santana had tried to hang out with Quinn periodically, just to make sure she wasn't about to slit her wrists after the meltdown in New York City. Quinn had taken to sitting in dark rooms by herself in complete silence, and it freaked the fuck out of Santana. So she went over and just sat with her. She never tried to turn on the lights, but after awhile she couldn't stand the quiet and had to put on the TV. They watched TV together, Santana occasionally sneaking a glance at Quinn's expression to see if she could tell what she was thinking. No such luck. Quinn was as unreadable as ever, and Santana mostly just braced herself for another random outburst to deal with.

If that was going to happen, Santana had Brittany on speed-dial for reinforcements. Not that Santana _wasn't_ hanging out with Brittany, just… they had set rules. A new start, or something.

At the beginning of the summer, Brittany had outlined a plan for herself - she really was sticking to that "working on me" business. So she had cheer camp planned, and she wanted to read more, and she went dancing with Mike every Saturday. She played video games with Puck on Friday nights, dragged Rachel to karaoke every Thursday, brought takeout and movies to Quinn's every Tuesday, and went to kickboxing class at the gym with Tina every Monday.

Santana wasn't sure how often Brittany saw Artie. She didn't ask. She also didn't ask how exactly Brittany was tutoring Finn in geometry every Wednesday. Stranger things had to have happened, right?

Regardless, Brittany had taken it upon herself to hold the glee club together over the break, and Santana's day was Sunday. They mostly read magazines and gossiped; Brittany told her about all the activities she had with the other glee kids, and Santana tried her best to listen. Occasionally she'd break out her phone and come up with the most ridiculous sext and send it to Quinn, laughing hysterically at Quinn's angry replies. Brittany always smiled gamely, before saying quietly, "She's going through a rough time, Santana."

To which Santana always conceded, with a shrug and a "I'm just trying to make her laugh." And Brittany would giggle and say, "She's going to kill you."

Santana always smiled biggest when Brittany giggled.

One day, as the first day of school quickly approached, Brittany sat up from Santana's bed. "Santana?"

Santana looked up from her nails. "Hm?"

"We need a plan."

"You've been hanging out with Berry too much."

Brittany smiled fondly, as if remembering some far-off memory. "We did a duet to a Lady Gaga song last week."

Santana ignored her. "What kind of plan?"

"For the school year."

"Okay." It wasn't that Santana didn't want to go back to school. Summer was pretty boring, and there were only so many times she could hang out at Quinn's without wanting to go tearing through the house and mess up all the perfect decor. And maybe smack over a Jesus statue.

But going back to school meant dealing with the McKinley shark tank. And Santana was not a shark anymore. Santana was a minnow.

Life as a minnow sucked.

"I'm going back on the Cheerios," Brittany stated carefully.

Santana blinked at her, waiting for something more. Brittany soldiered on.

"...are you?"

"Oh." Truthfully, Santana hadn't thought about it. She liked being able to wear whatever she wanted at school, and she could eat at Breadstix all the time now… but that Cheerios uniform protected her. It was shark skin.

"I love glee and I know it'll make Mr. Schuester mad, but I really need a scholarship for college. Coach Sylvester'll make sure I get one."

"Yeah," Santana exhaled. "You're right. I guess I'll rejoin, yeah."

"Well, we'll be seeing way more of each other again, and I know we'll probably get really close again, and I'm really happy about that, but… Santana, I don't want to date you."

The words stung Santana in the back of her eyes, and she tried not to let the tears prick out at the corners. She let out a wobbly laugh. Maintain some dignity.

"That's fine. No one's saying you need to. We hung out all summer, remember? We haven't even made out." She paused, mustering up a wicked grin. "And that's a _big deal_ for me."

Brittany frowned. Santana dropped the pretense immediately, and focused her eyes downward, avoiding the look.

"Well, I just think there need to be boundaries. I love you so much Santana, but I don't think we're going to work right now. I just don't think we're ready. You're new at being _you_ and you're new at _dating_ and this is just a lot of stuff you've never done before, and I don't want to be the one…" She trailed off, like she'd said too much. Santana looked at her out of the corner of her eyes, a big gulp of air trapped in her lungs. She knew exactly what Brittany was going to say.

She didn't want to be the trial run. She didn't want to be the one Santana would surely fuck up with on her first attempt. Brittany's eyes caught the light, shining with tears.

"I just think that... before, we didn't have any rules and it hurt both of us. So now I want rules. I don't want to lose you, so I want rules."

Santana took a shaky breath, feeling a little thump beat back into her heart at Brittany's words. She reached across the bed and grabbed her hand.

"I won't hurt you. And I won't date you. Okay?" She forced every ounce of nonchalance into her voice that she could muster.

Brittany smiled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Okay." She squeezed Santana's hand. "'Cause I'm really trying to work on me. I like me. But I also like you. And I don't want me to get hurt by you. 'Cause then who am I going to like more?"

Santana chuckled. "I get it, B. You don't have to explain yourself." She reached around and pulled Brittany into a hug. A few tears slid down her cheek, now that Brittany couldn't see her face. "See?" She choked out a watery laugh, rubbing her hand down Brittany's back. "See how much I'm not hurting you right now?"

Brittany laughed, and Santana's heart rattled against her ribcage.

The first day of school was pretty uneventful. Santana showed up to McKinley and immediately sought out Kurt in the parking lot. The Bully Whips had disbanded, mostly because Figgins said they couldn't afford the laundry upkeep for their berets. But also, Karofsky had transferred, and Santana didn't really want to be the only one sticking up for teen gay safety.

It didn't mean she still couldn't walk with Kurt though. Like she would tell anybody, but having someone to protect meant that no one needed to protect her. So she waited for Kurt's car to roll up, and immediately greeted him with a critical look. "Why are you wearing a sweater? It's August."

Mercedes climbed out of the passenger seat, rolling her eyes.

"Weezy."

"Satan."

Kurt ignored the exchange, and looked Santana up and down. His eyebrow raised. "Why are you wearing overalls? It's 2011."

Mercedes stifled a snicker. Santana sneered at him, but when Kurt turned around to get his attaché out of the passenger seat, she let a small smile creep onto her face.

Maybe this school year wouldn't be so bad.

Actually, the first day of school was pretty uneventful with one exception, and that was the sight of Quinn Fabray. Because Quinn Fabray had shown up to the first day of school with a ridiculous mop of pink hair. Santana knew, because she had the bump on her forehead to prove it.

She'd been walking down the hallway, having just deposited Kurt at his classroom, when she caught a flash of black and pink moving down a perpendicular walk through. Naturally, Santana turned and looked, because it's not every day that you see electric pink hair, and it's also not every day aforementioned electric pink hair on your sometimes-best-friend who usually has a stick so far up her ass you're pretty sure no medical procedure could remove it.

It's also not every day that you find electric pink hair… really fucking _hot_.

So Santana's head was permanently swiveled to the left, and, Jesus, was she _walking in slow-motion?_ Santana was pretty much zoned out, as she stared Quinn up and down, wondering what the _hell_ had happened since the last time she'd been over, and suddenly, shockingly, the side of her face connected with something metal.

She'd walked right into an open locker door. Great.

"Jesus, what the _fuck?_ " Santana reeled backwards, clutching her head.

"Uh, are you okay?" A hand reached out to touch Santana's sore spot. She smacked it away, even unseeing, as her eyes were clenched shut with the pain. "That looked like it kind of hurt."

Santana squinted one eye open to see who she was looking at. It was a new girl. A very… _cute_ new girl.

Santana groaned. If she was going to have to go through senior year wanting to make out with all the girls in school - including Quinn Fabray - then this whole "living honestly" plan was going to be hell on wheels. "Get out of my way," she groaned, steering around the New Girl and finding her way to class, one eye closed the whole way there.

As usual, Santana dropped into her seat next to Brittany, grumbling. "Are you okay?" Brittany reached out to the reddening mark on Santana's head, finger hovering over her skin. "I thought ethnic people didn't turn red or anything."

"I ran into a locker door," Santana mumbled embarrassedly as she fumbled with the pages of her text book. Brittany frowned sympathetically.

Last year, if they'd been at school or at home, Brittany would probably have kissed her finger and touched it to Santana's forehead, proudly proclaiming, "All better." There had been a phase in their childhood where Brittany swore her kisses had healing powers. Actually, to be specific, pain could be relieved by kissing the point of injury and then snorting loudly over it, which Santana always found deeply weird but also strangely charming. Coming from Brittany, anyways.

Over the years, it devolved into the feather-light press of a kissed finger, but today, it was simply not even a touch. Brittany's hand lingered over Santana's forehead for a moment, and then it quietly fell away.

Somehow, the lack of contact made the throbbing pain even worse.

After school, there was no other option in Santana's mind than to drop by Quinn's house. She hadn't gotten a chance to corner that pink hair after glee club, and there was no way she was going to stay in the dark on this one. Pink hair needed explaining, dammit.

So, she rapped twice on the Fabray door before Quinn opened it wordlessly and retreated back to the couch. Clearly Quinn was not offering up any explanations of her own.

"Y'know, if I didn't know better, I'd say this portrait was exactly like any other day," Santana began casually, dropping her bag on the ground and making her way to the armchair. "Something _is_ different, though; what is it?" She feigned being deep in thought, a finger to her chin. "Well, let's see… the lights are off, that's the same. You're not talking, that's the same. Everything looks like the Vatican threw up in here; yep. Oh, and what, ho! Your hair's pink and you're dressed all in black! _That's_ new!"

Quinn sent Santana a withering look, but still opted for silence. Santana dropped into a chair, waited a few seconds, and then tried a more direct tack.

"Care to explain, Fabray?"

"Figgins is making me change it back."

"Why? You look hot."

"Yes, well, apparently there's a dress code."

"Somebody shoulda told that to the guy who designed our Cheerios uniforms," Santana remarked.

Quinn laughed mirthlessly.

"You coming back with me and Britt?" Santana decided to let Quinn off the pink hair hook for at least a second.

"No," Quinn said quietly. "I don't think so. I just… want a change. I _wanted_ a change." She gestured at her flyaway pink streaks.

"Tina totally wears blue and purple and shit in her hair; I don't get why Figgins has to be such an ass about it."

"Well, Tina's hair is mostly her natural color, and also Figgins said something about Asian vampires, so I have no idea if he understands anything about Tina. Fabray family? Vampire-free. Easy to grasp. This isn't acceptable." She looked around her for a moment, as if she were inventorying her surroundings. Repressed American family? Check. Broken home? Check.

Santana winced, suddenly feeling _terrible_ for Quinn. So she offered the only platitude she could, standing up and extending her hand in invitation. "C'mon, I'll help you dye it back."

The next day, Quinn showed up with only the slightest pinkish hue to her hair, but still wearing darker clothes. It was enough for Santana not to run into any hard metal surfaces, though.

Rejoining the Cheerios was easy enough, as long as she waited patiently for Sue to finish her long string of boob jokes before trying out. She and Brittany had made the squad easily, and were given back their freshly-laundered uniforms. Sue didn't ask about Quinn. It's a wonder she didn't view them all as permanent traitors, and there was no point in pressing the issue.

In the locker rooms, Santana slid into the spanx and skirt and stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't feel any different. She still felt like an outsider. And now she was going to have to cheer on stupid fuckers who couldn't play football right but for some reason everybody worshiped them anyways.

She straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes, trying to intimidate her reflection. She had to find some way to still be her old self and let her be her new self too. There was no _not_ being Santana anymore. She wanted that mostly for her own good, but really, if she were being 100% honest with herself (the policy these days) she wanted it for herself because Brittany wanted her to be happy. And she wanted to be happy for Brittany. It was almost as good as being happy _with_ Brittany.

Almost.

Santana always noticed the new kids. Usually, she didn't smack into their locker doors, but she noticed them all the same. Quinn had been the new kid once, with a hungry look in her eyes, and Santana immediately knew she was protection. She was the fast track to the top of the food chain, and in the ninth grade shark tank, that was a damn good deal.

There was also something lurking behind Quinn's eyes that made Santana want to be her friend: it just looked like she didn't have any. But then on their first day of tryouts, Sue put Santana on the top of the pyramid to test her out, and Quinn's hand slipped off Santana's foot, letting her tumble to the ground.

After that, Santana knew her place. And she knew that Quinn was keeping her there. It was… whatever. She'd had Brittany, and that was enough. Plus, Quinn protected her. She cared about Santana's status because Santana was just like Quinn, and so the only time Santana had to worry was when Quinn's _own_ status was threatened. Because then the bus was coming, and Santana knew she'd get thrown underneath it. A hand slipped, a teammate dropped. It's how it was on the Cheerios.

Sam had been the new kid too, and Kurt wasn't the only one who thought Sam might be gay. But Santana didn't want to say anything. Only gay people have really good gaydars, right? And she didn't care enough about that Sam kid to put her neck out like that. Plus, Quinn got to him first and apparently he was either in the closet or just really not gay at all. And now he was dating Mercedes, according to Kurt. Whatever.

New Girl was… well, hot, for starters. Apparently she'd been on the dance team at her old school, and Santana wasn't really sure how that was going to transfer into popularity at McKinley.

New Girl's locker was five down from Santana's, and so Santana watched carefully out of the corner of her eye as she was decorating the inside of the door. Taped haphazardly on the inside, next to a mirror, was a Lady Gaga sticker, a picture of the recent winner of So You Think You Can Dance, and a photograph of New Girl herself, with her arms wrapped tightly around another girl.

Santana shut her locker, only to see Kurt standing right next to her.

"Jesus Christ! Don't you knock?"

Kurt lifted an eyebrow. "… on your locker door?"

Santana sneered at him. "Is that so much to ask?" She started to walk away, and then noticed that Kurt wasn't joining her. Grunting impatiently in her throat, she turned on her heel and grabbed him by the crook of his elbow, dragging him with her.

" _So,_ who is she?" Kurt asked with such mustered-up cloying enthusiasm that Santana wanted to punch his stupid grinning face.

"Shut up." Santana tightened her grip on his elbow, steering him round the corner towards his first class.

"She's a dancer, Santana. You have a type!"

Santana dropped his arm immediately, and walked away, leaving him by himself in the McKinley hallway for the first time in six months.

The knock on the door was definitely audible over the blasting TV, but Santana's immediate reaction was to she'd pretend she didn't hear it. Jersey Shore was a far better outlet for her brain right now. Her dad wasn't home, as usual, and so it was just her with the house to herself. With the TV as loud as it could go, and all the lights on, because noise and chaos always made Santana feel better.

Which is why The Situation and gang were currently partying in her living room.

But the knock rapped louder, and Santana knew she couldn't hide forever. She muted the television - but didn't move from the couch.

"I know you're in there, Santana." Kurt's voice called from outside.

Ugh. Santana pulled herself off the couch and flung open the door. "What the hell do you want, Kurt?"

Kurt smiled proudly. "I knocked."

Santana stared at him for a second, blinked once, then turned and sat back down, leaving the door open.

"So, this is Lima Heights, huh?" Kurt stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

"Lima Heights Adjacent."

"How many venereal diseases do you think those idiots have?" Kurt sat next to her on the couch. Santana didn't look at him. She wondered if this was what it was like to be Quinn: sitting silently on the couch while people try and appease you. Except Quinn liked it quiet and dark, instead of under the blinding lights of Snooki and J-Woww.

"I hear chlamydia's lovely this time of year."

Kurt stifled a giggle, and Santana couldn't help a smile creep onto her face.

"What do you want, Kurt? Do you need an escort to the grocery store or something?"

"I'm not here for me, Santana. I want to… help you."

Santana turned to look accusingly at him. "Is that so?"

Kurt nodded, crossing and uncrossing his legs. "I figure… if I can support someone who shoved me into lockers and threatened my life, I can help out a teammate. And… friend." He ventured quietly at the last part, knowing full well that Santana could easily bite his head off right now.

"He texts me every day and asks about you, you know." Santana didn't really want to tell Kurt that - mostly because Dave made her promise not to, but she wasn't sure she cared anymore. She was stalling for time.

Kurt took a shaky breath. "Does he?"

"Yeah. To make sure you're safe. I always tell him you're fine. That you're happy, and in love, and no one's throwing you around. I also tell him that you don't miss him one bit, because, _Jesus,_ Kurt, we don't even need to go down that road. He should still feel like shit for what he did."

Kurt smiled a tiny smile. "I appreciate it."

Santana smiled back at him, smugly. "I think he does, though. I make sure of it."

"My hero." Kurt clasped his hand to his chest.

"How's Blaine?"

"Stop changing the subject, Santana. I know you don't care about Blaine."

Santana didn't say anything. He was right. She didn't care about Blaine. But Kurt still had to answer the question. She was in charge of this conversation, dammit.

"He's… fine. He's loving college. So many new people, and places, and… he's having the time of his life. I'm happy for him." The sentiment didn't quite carry through to his voice.

"Are you guys still together?"

"Yes. We're trying to last the year, until I decide what I'm going to do for college."

"That's gotta suck."

"I think it's worth it."

"Maybe. Or maybe you're both stupid."

Another silence fell over them. Santana kept her eyes trained to the television screen.

"Santana, do you have a plan?"

"What is it with you people and your fucking plans?" Santana spat out before she could stop herself.

"Says the woman who could feasibly take out every couple in McKinley High with some well-placed mononucleosis." Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking a battle plan, or anything. I know you're capable of those. Just… do you have any idea about what you want to do? Are you going to come out before college?"

Santana felt her jaw clench. "Yes. No. I don't know."

"Will Brittany be with you if you come out?"

"No." Kurt waited patiently for her to continue, and Santana sighed. "We have a no-dating rule in place. She's trying to work on herself, and I think she wants me to too. Whatever that means," she added bitterly.

"Santana, you know _exactly_ what that means," Kurt said gently. "You don't have to parade through the hallways with rainbow flags or anything, but I don't want you to sacrifice your identity simply because you're scared. It's not worth it."

Oh god. Santana felt tears start to leak out her eyes. If being gay meant crying this much, she would like to pass, thank you very much. Skip the homosexuality and, pardon the pun, go straight to dry-eyed happiness. Wouldn't that be nice?

But Santana had never been good at controlling her tears once they started. So she just let them fall down her face and down her neck, soaking uncomfortably through her shirt collar.

"Jesus _fuck,_ " she spat, reaching for tissues. "I hate this." Exasperated, she hiccuped back a sob, and chuckled mirthlessly at what she _knew_ she sounded like. Kurt put his hand on her knee.

"You can be who you are and no one can touch you. You just can't let them. And it's not a Cheerios uniform, or bitchy insults, or random hook-ups that protect you. You protect you, just by being you. Santana, you're the scariest girl I know. Why do you think no one's threatened me with a slushie in months?" He reached for Santana's hand and grabbed her half-soaked Kleenex, bringing it up to her eyes and dabbing at her bleeding mascara. "Good things can happen to you, Santana. I just... want good things to happen to you for the right reasons." He was almost timid in the way he said it.

Santana struggled to catch her breath as Kurt blotted at her makeup. He took the moment to muster up some more courage. "So. _New Girl_ is named Sugar, and she's a dancer. Rumor has it she's at least bi, because she had a reputation for making out with the other girls on the dance team. She went to school in Philadelphia," he added. "There's an area there called the 'Gayborhood,' so she's probably at least pretty open-minded."

"I told her to get out of my way the other day. I don't think she likes me."

Kurt laughed. "Sweetie, that's just part of your charm. If she doesn't like that, then you probably shouldn't date her."

They fell silent again, and she let Kurt put his arm around her, snuggling up to his side as the people on TV got shit-faced.

"I swear these people are missing chromosomes," Kurt remarked. Santana rolled her eyes and tried not to sniffle into his shirt.

Later that night, she got a text message that said _Just be happy, Santana._ She wondered if encouraging text messages were the bread and butter of supportive gay relationships. Gross.

But she kept it in her inbox anyways, unanswered.

Santana really wished Ms. Pillsbury would stop _staring at her_. They'd been sitting in her office for five minutes now, listening to the clock tick by at a mercilessly slow pace. And she was just... _staring at her._

"Is this your idea of counseling?" Santana finally had to break the silence. She picked at loose thread on her Cheerios skirt.

"Well," Ms. Pillsbury enunciated, in that obnoxiously distinct way, "I'm trying something new."

"Oh, so, like, _actually_ counseling then? There wasn't a pamphlet for this?"

"If you must know," Santana knew she was treading carefully, choosing not to take the bait. "Principal Figgins is trying to shape up McKinley. Our student population… well, we're not very well ranked as a safe learning environment."

Santana scoffed. "Some shitty-ass people go to this school."

Ms. Pillsbury pursed her lips. She was trying to decide whether or not to lie, Santana knew. This was a test - for the guidance counselor, not her. She narrowed her eyes.

Finally, "Yes. There really are an inordinate amount of miscreants in attendance here." She sighed.

Santana smirked. Ms. Pillsbury had passed. Honesty was always Santana's best policy.

You know, unless lying was particularly beneficial to her that day. But otherwise; yeah. Honesty.

"So what am I here for, then?"

"Santana, I know you've changed a lot since you joined glee club, and I just want to make sure you're… okay." She sat back in her chair.

"I'm good. I like glee. I'm back on the Cheerios. Coach doesn't make as many boob jokes, and Rachel Berry has stopped stinking up the hallways with her depressing pheromones. In all, I say everybody's winning."

"How's your... relationship with Brittany?"

Santana felt the heat rise in her neck. _Not a chance, Bambi. Not this easy._

"How's your relationship with Professor Buttchin?"

Okay, so maturity was not a necessary component in the battle plan.

"Wow; okay. Well, alright. We're… dating. Cautiously."

Santana looked up. She wasn't expecting more honesty. Or being talked to like she was a real person and not just a teen cheerleading bitch with fake jugs. Oh, fuck all.

Squinting her eyes and tilting her head, Santana let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"It's fine. We are not dating. Cautiously or otherwise." She shrugged flippantly.

"Why not? As far as I saw it, you two were the most well-adjusted couple in this school."

"We were never a _couple,_ " Santana spat bitterly. "More like a _pair._ " Ridiculing Ms. Pillsbury for her inaccuracies seemed like the best option right now. "Besides, I don't date. I've always been too good at sex to want to actually _date_ anyone. Dating is for pussies and virgins."

Ms. Pillsbury winced at Santana's words. She took a moment to compose herself, and Santana felt her anger dissipate again. Ugh.

"Well, maybe you should consider dating."

"I told you; I'm not good at dating."

"Well, maybe you should consider getting good at dating."

Santana looked up, and at the exact moment, saw New Girl pass by outside Ms. Pillsbury's office. _Dammit._ She turned back to look at that damn annoying smile and a cupcake-yellow cardigan.

"Shut up." Santana got up out of her chair, leaving it purposefully askew so that Ms. Pillsbury would have to fix it.

This year in chemistry, they had to switch lab partners every week. Santana scrolled her eyes down the list. _Fuck._ She was on rotation with Tina, Puck, Mike, and… Berry. _Double fuck._ She still hadn't forgiven the midget for screwing up their chances at Nationals. She'd help write that song and everything, and really just wanted them to at least _place._ At least then she'd have happy memories from New York so she could look forward to going back there. But instead she just had the image of Finn sucking on Rachel's face in front of a thousand people burned into her brain, and the stupid hiccups of Quinn saying "I just want somebody to love me." It was like the world's lamest movie set to the world's most depressing soundtrack.

But she didn't have to deal with Rachel Berry today anyways, as her eyes shifted to the calendar and saw that she'd be with Tina for the class period. Well, whatever. She could handle that.

Tina was already at the lab table, pulling her notebook out of her bag. She was dressed… slightly differently? Her hair was pulled back, and she was wearing way less clothing. Still all black, though. Just… a black t-shirt with black leggings and a black skirt. Weird.

"What, did your closet burst into flames because it saw sunlight this summer?" Santana dropped her backpack on the floor and situated herself on the stool.

Tina didn't look up. "Nice to see you too, Santana."

"I know; you've missed me."

"How was your summer?"

"Ah, you know. Burned all my Rachel Berry dolls and sacrificed Finn Hudson's football jersey to the show choir competition gods. The usual."

Tina snorted a giggle. She shifted in her chair to meet Santana's eyes. "Write any more awkward songs for your fish-faced boyfriends?"

Santana scoffed. " _No._ "

Tina grinned. "Good. 'Cause I'd be pissed if you didn't let me in on that."

They worked well through most of the period, with Tina handling the chemicals as Santana made faces and wrote down data. In the middle of droppering some saline solution, Tina broke the silence.

"So I'm joining the football team this year."

Santana leaned back, impressed. "Oh, really? They gonna let you do that? Y'know, being of the lady persuasion?"

"They let Finn on the team, didn't they?"

A wicked grin broke out on Santana's face. "Duly noted."

"It's just… it's senior year and this is my last chance to do whatever I want. And I want to be on the football team. I've been working out with Brittany all summer, and I think I can really pull it off."

Santana frowned at the mention of Brittany's name, and felt the distinct need to pretend she didn't hear it. "Are you quitting Glee?"

"What? No. What the hell, Santana? It's possible to do both."

"Well, not if you're Lady Hudson." Santana doodled in the margins of her paper. "But yeah, good luck getting Schuester to give you a solo now that you're splitting your time. And is Mikey okay with this?"

Tina paused. "We… broke up."

"What the fuck? You two were like, the most functional couple in this school. There's no hope for anybody if the Asian Invasion falls apart."

Tina gave her a Look, and Santana remembered what Ms. Pillsbury had said about her and Brittany. Was this like, fucking common knowledge or something? Jesus Christ.

"Well, it started when I didn't want to go to Asian Camp this summer. He went instead, and when he got back, we just… didn't really have the same connection. I think it's one of those things where like, we'll get back together in ten years or so, when we know what we want and who we are and everything."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "I guess. I kind of think that's bullshit, though. You both know exactly who you are and what you want. Turns out you just didn't want each other."

Tina didn't respond that for at least a minute, before she just offered a simple, "I guess so."

Santana saw New Girl every day at least six times, because that was how often they both went to their lockers - in between every class. Stupid New Girl with her stupid dancer's legs, and apparent ignorance to the fact that this school was a fucking _nightmare_ \- she smiled at everyone and said hello, and somehow everyone from Azimio to Rachel Berry thought she was fantastic.

"We should try and recruit her for the glee club!" she'd exclaimed.

"We haven't even heard her sing," Quinn replied sharply.

"Yes, but she has such a good _attitude_ … unlike some people, Quinn," Rachel said matter-of-factly, without a trace of bitchiness. Quinn merely rolled her eyes.

Regardless, everyone seemed to love Stupid New Girl, and for the first time in her life Santana _hated_ that she was just like everybody else. But Kurt's voice and Emma's voice and Brittany's voice were all swimming in her head, and so she made the very stupid decision of walking up to Stupid New Girl's locker. Because apparently she just hadn't learned her lesson about talking to girls at their lockers.

"Hey, New Girl," Santana offered, casually leaning up against a locker. Stupid New Girl looked at her and smiled.

"Hey… Santana, right?" Santana nodded, trying out a cocky smile. "Yeah… you told me to get out of your way the other day."

Santana's face fell. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder. Azimio appeared behind her. "I need to get to my locker, Amy Wine-whore," he proclaimed loudly, and pushed Santana out of the way. She stumbled backwards, readying her arsenal of swear words... and ran smack into Brittany.

"Wow, you have _no_ game," she said, smiling and helping Santana right herself. The fight immediately drained out of her; she was basically being held in Brittany's arms.

"Shut up," Santana mumbled as Brittany released her, and she chose to direct her energies into smoothing the pleats on her Cheerios uniform. "Where's Kurt?"

"He's in class already; don't worry." She started walking, and Santana fell into step with her. It was never hard to fall into step with Brittany.

"Am I really that bad?" Santana said quietly as they maneuvered through the throngs of students.

"I can help you, if you want. I've dated the whole school. I'm really good at attracting people."

 _Yeah, no shit,_ Santana thought miserably. But she straightened herself up and tried to salvage some of her dignity. "Nah, I got this, Britt. It's cool."

And before Brittany could say anything, she turned into the waiting doorway of her English classroom.

Dealing with Puck in chemistry class was… annoying. Mostly because every time he said the word "chemistry," he wriggled his eyebrows at her and licked his lips.

Also he was a deadbeat partner.

"Did you hear that Tina's joining the football team?" Puck watched as Santana fiddled with the gauge on their burner.

"Yeah, that's cool," Santana replied, not really caring enough to make any sort of commentary. Mostly she just wanted help on this dumb lab. She handed Puck a dropper to use, but he just took it and set it down on the table.

"It's kind of _awesome_ is what it is. How badass is that?"

"Why do you keep talking to me in the form of questions?"

Puck frowned. "I'm just excited, man. This'll be interesting. Maybe if we can get Kurt to come back and be kicker we'll keep the winning team. 'Cause with Karofsky gone…" He trailed off, and swiveled once around on his lab stool, simply to amuse himself.

"Puck, you don't think it looks like I need help or anything, do you?"

"Nah, it really looks like you have this under control." He grinned up at Santana, who smiled sweetly, then reached down and snapped the wrists of his latex gloves.

His reaction was well worth the extra work Santana'd had to do all period.

Every day at their lockers, Santana had gotten in the habit of nodding at Stupid New Girl and simply saying, "Hey, New Girl." Stupid New Girl just nodded back and said, "How's the forehead, Santana?" Then they both sort of half-smiled and walked away.

Every repeat of this encounter felt like a small triumph, even though somewhere in the back of her brain Santana _knew_ it was the lamest thing on the planet. But, whatever. She was pretty sure they were flirting, and that was something, right?

Of course, she really only had it on Kurt's word that Stupid New Girl was at all interested in women, except for maybe that picture in her locker. So on Tuesday, Santana tried to test the waters.

It was just like any other day, their pleasantries exchanged, complete with Santana's inner high five and self-congratulation when they transpired successfully. But today, after Santana shut her locker, she walked up behind Stupid New Girl's and waited for her.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Santana asked casually, hoping she wouldn't scare the girl out of her skin. Luckily, Stupid New Girl turned calmly around, and smiled politely.

"No, it's my sister."

"Seriously? She doesn't even look like you. She's not even pretty."

...oh.

Santana hadn't really know what to do with the information, so she'd said the first thing that came into her head.

Stupid New Girl opened her mouth to reply, and at that exact moment, Kurt skipped up to them. "Are you ready?" He looked at Santana, who was trying to keep a poker face after realizing what she'd just said, and then back to Sugar, whose mouth still hung open in confusion.

"Okay, let's go, Santana!" There was a high-pitched urgency in his voice as he realized some social faux pas was unfurling before his eyes, in horrendous slow-motion. He grabbed Santana by the crook of her elbow, dragging her away, and for some reason Santana felt the need to call an over-casual "See you around!" to Sugar as they parted.

"Stop talking!" Kurt hissed, swatting at her. " _What_ did you do?"

"I told her her sister wasn't pretty." Santana couldn't really find it in her to be upset. At this point, she was just going to have to accept the fact that she was irreversibly terrible at hitting on girls.

"Oh, Santana…" Kurt shook his head. "You're hopeless. Absolutely hopeless."

"Y'know, in my defense, technically I also called her pretty. It's not my fault her sister had to take the hit for the sake of the compliment."

Kurt chuckled, and turned towards his classroom. "You're _beyond_ hopeless."

Santana shrugged, blithely. "Yeah."

That afternoon, Santana decided to check on Quinn, whose after school activities still seemed to involve sitting in the dark in utter silence.

It was comforting to know that someone was in worse shape than she was these days. And sometimes, Santana felt the gratifying twist of vindication over the fact that it was Quinn's turn. Payback was a bitch, and it was nice that karma did a little of Santana's work for her sometimes.

But as Santana stepped into the Fabray house, she noticed one thing - the light was on. Quinn sat in her usual spot, on the couch, staring off into nothing. A book sat on the coffee table in front of her.

"Wow, lights on today, Fabray? I'm impressed."

Quinn turned to look at Santana, as if she only just realized she was here. She blinked a couple times. "Rachel turned them on and didn't turn them back off when she left."

"Why was Care Bear here?"

"Checking on me?" Quinn shrugged. "She said Brittany told her I hadn't been myself lately, and so she just… came over."

"Weird. Did she trot out her boyfriend just to make you jealous?" Santana dropped next to Quinn on the couch and reached for the remote.

"They're apparently not together."

"That's… unexpected." Santana flipped through the channels. "Want me to turn the light off?"

Quinn nudged at the book with her foot. "No, that's okay."

The fourth week of school rolled around, meaning Santana's lab partner rotated through to Mike Chang. She hadn't really talked to him at all in the new year, mostly because he kind of avoided glee events, probably on account of Tina.

Nobody at McKinley really knew it, but Santana had known Mike the longest out of any of the people at school. Most everybody else she'd met at some point in middle school, but she and Mike Chang went back to the Golden Bridge Academy, Lima's annoyingly repressed private elementary school. Santana had shown up to the first day of school in her uniform, with the sweater and skirt like a mini Rachel Berry, and she'd been desperately trying to fit in. All the other kids were drawing neat sketches with pencils, of their families and houses and pets, and Santana did her best to mimic them. Her page had looked pretty dumb though, with only her little scribble of herself and the scribble of her dad, standing about four feet apart. No pets, no siblings. No mom. She hadn't really felt like drawing her house.

Then, Mike Chang had walked up to her desk, a huge grin on his face and neon-colored paint on his fingers, and he swiped his hand over her paper.

Santana liked it a lot better that way, and it was thus that Mike Chang taught Santana Lopez the wonders of chaotic finger painting.

(There may have been one incident down the line where they both ran around the room smearing the colors all over the walls. Santana, purposefully being obnoxious, had gotten some of the other kids in their pristine uniforms too. Ever since then, the teachers separated Mike and Santana, and Mike's parents encouraged him to distance himself from her.)

But even still, Santana had always counted Mike Chang as a friend, although he hung out with Brittany more than her, and they barely spoke any words to one another. Without Mike Chang, Santana would probably still be wearing knee socks and ties, tremulously trying to draw the right picture. She'd always wondered that if she stayed close with Mike, she wouldn't have been so hung up on popularity. He seemed to have no issues with it - he finger painted his way right to glee from football and managed both easily.

She envied him.

But not _now,_ though, because he was miserable in the wake of his split from Tina.

"You okay, Mikey?" Santana nudged him with her elbow as he set to work writing their lab without a word.

"Yeah, I'll be okay."

And that was it, and always how it was. A mutual unspoken friendship. They didn't talk about things. But they were friends, because of one single day in preschool.

"Santana, can I talk to you?"

These were the words Santana never wanted to hear out of Rachel Berry's mouth. Especially when she was in her current state of anger with her over Nationals. Still. Probably always, a little bit.

"What do you want?" Santana sighed, trying her hardest to make it clear she was burdened with indifference. The club had all departed to the bathrooms to prep for their performances, and Santana had apparently made the worst decision in staying behind to dig out her makeup bag. Rachel had cornered her.

"I want to apologize again for my actions at Nationals," Rachel began.

"Forget it," Santana interrupted, hoping she'd be able to cut this short.

"But," Rachel cut her off. "I would like to remind you that it takes two people to share an onstage kiss, however poorly timed or inappropriate. And I don't see you threatening to kill Finn."

"That's because Finn's stupid and I don't care about him," Santana returned easily and then immediately stopped rooting around in her bag. She looked up at Rachel, whose mouth twitched into a little smile as she realized the implications of what Santana'd just said.

Santana scoffed. "Whatever." She went back to shuffling through her bag, even though the makeup kit was clutched firmly in her hand.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. As you may know, Finn and I are no longer an item. It's been an adjustment, but I feel good about the decision, and I'm ready to focus all my energies on getting us to Nationals again this year. But Finn is a little hurt by it, and it's his decision to step down as co-captain of glee."

Santana stopped her rifling again, and looked up suspiciously.

"...and?"

"Well, I know you pretend not to care, but I actually have an acute sense of recognizing a performer's devotion. You're the only one here who cares as much about winning and performing as I do," Rachel shrugged. "So I thought I'd ask if you'd care to be my co-captain."

"What about Kurt or Mercedes?"

"I think we're too similar. Plus, they said no. They both want solos, but they don't actually want to put in the work to captain the club."

"Finn did work for this?"

Rachel looked away, and shrugged. "Sometimes."

Santana eyed Rachel. "What makes you think we won't kill each other?"

"Because if we don't kill each other, we'll be unstoppable."

"You're not allowed to make any of the costumes argyle."

"Fair enough."

"And there is a minimum on how many shmoopy duets you can sing with people, or about people. You don't want me to barf onstage, do you?"

"Duly noted."

"And you're not allowed to send me more than five e-mails a day with song suggestions."

"I think I can manage."

Santana narrowed her eyes again, and stuck out her hand, makeup bag still firmly clutched in it. Puzzled, Rachel accepted the bag - but Santana kept her hand held out. Rachel's face split into an annoyingly bright grin as she realized that Santana was acquiescing, and grabbed the outstretched hand. They shook on it.

"Okay, so Sectionals," Rachel began as they walked out of the classroom together, Rachel still carrying Santana's makeup bag for her.

Santana groaned.


	2. Chapter 2

Tina's first football game was the first weekend of October, even though the season had started and the guys had already played two games. But, according to Tina, Coach Beiste had kept her on the bench because she wasn't ready yet. Tina seemed mostly okay with that for the few weeks, but she'd been getting antsy to play, and in chemistry earlier she couldn't do anything helpful out of sheer excitement and nerves for her pending start. (It didn't really bug Santana. Tina had been hopping around, intermittently claiming she was going to throw up or pass out. It had been mostly cute, although Santana would admit that to exactly no one.)

Brittany and Santana were cheering as usual, and the Titans were filing up on the line of scrimmage to start their offense. Tina took her spot as running back, behind Finn, and looked up to the stands, waving a hand. Kurt, Mercedes, Rachel, and Quinn were sitting together, cheering. Well, Kurt, Mercedes and Rachel were cheering, and Quinn was just sort of sitting there trying to smile. Santana was well familiar with Quinn's "I'm-uncomfortable-but-I'm-trying-to-act-normal" facade, mostly because it made her look constipated and Santana thought it was hilarious.

Puck trotted out onto the field, and when he crossed behind Tina, he slapped her on the back with a thumbs-up.

Santana and Brittany filed into their cheering pattern as Finn counted off the snap and hiked backwards. The players scattered down the field, Tina darting in and out of defenders. She was open, if Finn could just make the pass. He spun backwards a few more yards, and then, as a linebacker broke through and charged for him, launched the ball sky-high towards Puck, and out of bounds. The crowd died down, collectively disappointed.

The game continued like this for the rest of the first half: Finn getting sacked or lobbing the ball onto the sidelines, and at halftime McKinley was down by 17, with only one field goal under their belts. The buzzer sounded, and Santana took it upon herself to intercept Puck on the way to the locker room.

"Is Finn doing what I think he's doing?" she growled.

"If you mean 'being a total dick and a playing shitty football,' then yes, he's doing that." Puck bit back.

"What the fuck? Why won't he pass to Tina?"

"I don't know, dude, but I'm fucking pissed. I need to go talk to her." Puck took off his helmet and jogged towards Tina, who was filling up a Gatorade cup on the sidelines. She was only allowed in the boys locker room when Coach was doing her talk, which wouldn't be for another few minutes.

Girls rules be damned, though, and Santana charged into the locker room, pushing people out of the way and finding Finn sitting, pads still on, wiping his face with a towel.

"What the actual fuck, Hudson." Santana pushed him on his chest pads, sending his balance back. Finn caught himself on a row of lockers.

"What the hell, Santana?! You can't be in here!"

"Why aren't you passing to Tina?" Yep. Santana was definitely shouting, and the whole football team was definitely paying attention.

Finn stood up, determined not to have his leadership threatened in front of the guys. "She's a girl," he said quietly.

"Shocking! And?" Santana's eyebrows shot up her face.

"I don't want to hurt her! There's all these big dudes out there that I'm pretty sure can, like… squash her, and I don't want to be the one to make that happen! I like Tina! She's my teammate in glee too, and I don't want her to get hurt and miss Sectionals or something!"

Santana narrowed her eyes. "Well, here's the thing, Mr. Big Man. You are not Tina's white knight on the football field. That shit is not going to fly. She is the fastest runner you have out there, and she is your teammate. You need to pass to her, or you are being a sexist, and a real shitty quarterback. You wanna get sacked again? I'll get this entire line of defense to completely drop their pass protection."

Finn looked around at the guys in the locker room, most of whom probably would bend to Santana's will if she threatened them with razor blades. After a moment, he swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"Get Puck to block tackles for her, and I'm there."

Santana smiled sweetly, smacked Finn in the chest for good measure, and left. She stopped Puck and Tina on their way in.

"He's gonna pass to you." Tina's face split into a grin, and Santana turned to Puck. "You just gotta be there to block tackles for her. Finn's afraid she's gonna get hurt."

Puck scoffed. "You think we didn't practice this shit? We've got this under control. We're a team." He slung his arm over Tina's shoulder, grinning at her. Santana stared at them bemusedly as they walked away.

The second half started, and as the players took the field, Santana heard Kurt, Rachel, and Mercedes cheering again. Quinn looked slightly more comfortable, Santana noticed with a chuckle. The opposing team threw two incompletes and only gained eight yards, so the Titans took back the offense pretty quickly.

The snap counted off, and Finn backpedaled, watching his receivers split down the field. Tina was charging up the sideline, cleanly outrunning two defenders who didn't seem all that interested in keeping up with her. Finn had proven during the whole first half that he wasn't going to pass to her anyways.

"Come on, asshole…" Santana muttered under her breath as she watched the play unfold.

Suddenly, Finn reared his arm back and flung the ball downfield in a perfect spiral. Puck charged diagonally across the pitch and fell into Tina's backdraft, as the ball dropped neatly into her arms - she tucked it under, and ran. Defenders sprinted towards her, but were met with Puck's shoulder as he knocked each and every one back. Tina made it easily over the goal line, and she threw her arms in the air. Santana could hear Puck's rebel yell all the way from the fifty yard line, and couldn't help but grin when he double high-fived Tina and banged their helmets together in celebration.

Up in the stands, Kurt, Mercedes, Rachel, and Quinn had leapt to their feet, brandishing huge poster boards that spelled out T-I-N-A. The T, I, and N were held up above their heads, shaking madly with uncontrolled zeal. Quinn held hers calmly at her chest, but she was standing up at least, and her face was split into the biggest grin Santana had seen on it in awhile.

Down the line, Santana suddenly caught New Girl's eyes in the crowd. She smiled at her, and Santana quickly averted her eyes in panic.

"That was amazing!" Brittany came up behind Santana, bouncing. "Why didn't they let girls on the team before?"

Santana broke into a genuine smile at seeing Brittany so happy. "That was pretty badass," she agreed. "Tell me something, Britts. Did you convince her to do that?"

"Do what?" Brittany feigned innocence. Or maybe she wasn't feigning - sometimes Santana really couldn't tell. "Score a touchdown? I'm pretty sure you made that happen." She grinned deviously at Santana.

"No, I mean," Santana tried to quell the heat she felt rising in her neck at the fact Brittany noticed her halftime activities. "Getting her to try out for the team."

Brittany laughed airily. "Oh, that. Well, she told me she wanted to one day, and I just told her she should do it. I'm glad she listened," she added with a chuckle, as if it were that simple.

Santana shook her head, still grinning. Brittany was going to singlehandedly champion every single member of glee club this year, whether they liked it or not.

-

After the game, everybody headed to Breadstix to celebrate.

"To Tina!" Puck heralded a breadstick in the air, and everyone raised theirs to touch it in a mock toast, echoing the sentiment. Tina grinned from ear to ear, Puck nudging her shoulder with his.

"Thanks guys," she said shyly. "I can't even tell you how much I needed you guys cheering for me, but it totally paid off because that was literally one of the greatest days of my life!" She squealed a little bit, Mercedes and Rachel chattering excitedly in reaction to the conversation.

Santana kept mostly quiet. They were all smushed around a big table, and she was elbow to elbow between Brittany and Rachel. On the other side of Rachel sat Mercedes, and across the table were Kurt, Puck, and Tina. Quinn sat at the head of the table and somehow managed not to suck the fun out of everything. Finn and Mike opted out of the celebration, Finn mumbling something about not wanting to be the bad guy, and Mike awkwardly claiming that he had a headache. But Santana knew he didn't want to be around Tina right now. Especially when she looked so happy.

Santana's eyes slid sideways to Brittany, who was licking whipped cream off her straw, laughing at something Kurt said. Tina joined in, and soon the whole table was cracking up.

Mike was a pussy.

Santana stood up abruptly, and everyone looked at her with dumbfounded gazes.

"Chill, I'm just going to the bathroom." She tossed down her napkin and left the table, yelling, "Get them to refill our breadsticks!" as she turned the corner into the narrow hallway where the restrooms were.

She didn't really have to pee; she just wanted a moment away from all that laughter. Even Quinn was giggling quietly with everyone, and Santana was mostly suppressing the urge to just start yelling at them all for no particular reason whatsoever. Smack Puck's ice cream spoon out of his hand or something.

As Santana stood over the sink, a door behind her unlatched and opened. And of course, who should step out but Stupid New Girl. As soon as she saw Santana, she smiled. Santana didn't return it.

"Santana," she said, all friendly, as she stuck her hands in the sink and turned on the water.

"New Girl," Santana returned glumly. "Have any more relatives I can call unattractive?"

Stupid New Girl laughed, a genuine laugh, and reached for the paper towels. That was… an unexpected reaction. Santana watched her carefully as she dried her hands. Once she was done, she crumpled up the paper towels, tossed them, and leaned against the wall, arms folded. Santana mimicked the position, waiting for a cue.

"Do you come here often?" Oh. Stupid New Girl was apparently trying out actual conversation.

"Do you understand what this place is? They never stop feeding you breadsticks. Ever," Santana replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Because, well, it was. Of course she came here often. Get with it, Stupid New Girl.

"Why aren't you out there with your friends?"

Santana shrugged. Is that what they were? Yeah. Yeah, okay. They were.

"Well, maybe sometime, if you're going to come here without your friends, you could… invite me along." Stupid New Girl shrugged right back.

Santana eyed her, suspicious. "Maybe."

"Maybe, like, next Friday night?"

"What, like, on a date?"

Stupid New Girl winked. "Maybe."

And with that, she lifted herself up off the wall, and out of the bathroom, leaving a disgustingly pleasant scent lingering in the bathroom. What the fuck was that, lilies? Lilacs? Charm and irresistibility?

Santana was pretty sure it was the last one, and all of a sudden, she realized she was going on a date on Friday night.

At Breadstix.

With a girl.

A girl who wasn't Brittany.

She maybe hyperventilated a little bit after that.

-

There was really only one option.

She was driving Brittany home, after she had managed to control her breathing enough to return to their table at Breadstix and discover that everyone was paying their checks and parting ways.

"I need your help with something," Santana began, grateful that she had the excuse of paying attention to the road instead of having to look Brittany in the eye.

Brittany took her feet off the dash, sensing Santana's tone. "Like with school? Because tutoring Finn is taking up more time than I thought it would, but I might be able to -"

"No, not like school," Santana cut her off. Then she thought about what she was going to ask, and bit the inside of her cheek. "Well. Kind of like school."

Santana could feel Brittany's eyes trained on her, and it was making the heat rise in her neck. Ohio really needed to be colder in October, that's for damn sure.

"You know that stupid new girl?"

"The one that you keep trying to flirt with?" Brittany bit back a smile.

Santana groaned. "Britt, c'mon."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Brittany re-arranged her face into the perfect portrait of seriousness. "Go ahead."

"I think I need to take you up. On… learning how to date… or whatever."

Brittany gasped. "You asked her out? Santana, how did you even do that? And when? I was with you the whole night… oh my god, did you time travel? Did you live like, six lifetimes of experiences in the one minute I was eating my ice cream sundae?" Her eyes widened, and then she shook her head violently, as if trying to fling thoughts of time travel off her mind. "No. No. Okay. Your problem. Go ahead. Again," she added.

"If you must know," Santana began, rather needlessly, because of course Brittany must know, she's Brittany. Brittany knows everything Santana-related, whether Santana tells her or not. "She asked me out."

Brittany's jaw fell open. "Really? Oh my god, this is huge!"

Santana tried to muster up a smile, but she really wasn't sure that she was happy about Brittany's reaction. Why was it so… ecstatic? Not even an ounce of jealousy? Really?

But this was Brittany. She's basically incapable of jealousy.

Santana shook herself out of her thoughts, and began again. "You saw me with her, Britt. There's no way I can sit through an actual date and not make a fool of myself, or be a huge bitch."

"Oh, that's, like, part of your charm." It was as if Brittany had cited a quantitative scientific fact, like, "There are two pints in a quart."

"Still. I just… I don't know how to date. I mean…" The words caught behind Santana's teeth. There was a red light, and she didn't have traffic to glue her eyes to out of cowardice. So she glanced sideways towards Brittany, whose body was fully turned towards her in her seat, waiting. Too much. Santana looked out her window instead.

"...I've never been on a date without you there."

Was it incredibly fucked up that Santana had never been on a date without Brittany, and yet they had never dated? Santana was beginning to think the answer to that question may have been a resounding and irksome yes.

Brittany cleared her throat, as the light turned green and Santana accelerated through the intersection, shifting gears. Her hand fell lightly on the one on the gearshift, and squeezed.

"My house, on Sunday? Sunday's our day," Brittany reminded Santana in a sing-song voice.

Santana just nodded. Yeah. Sunday. Their day.

-

"Okay, so the key to a successful first date is to be interested and interesting," Brittany began. They were stretched out on Brittany's bed, Brittany laying back comfortably, with Santana awkwardly sitting cross-legged at her feet. Lord Tubbington sat next to her, all fat and cranky. He made Santana nervous.

"Like, you have to ask really good questions about the other person, like, 'Have you ever been in a hot air balloon?' or 'Did you vote for Bill Clinton?'" She lazily rubbed her foot over Lord Tubbington's back, scratching his fur. He purred complacently, stretching out his claws. One of them nicked Santana's leg, and she glared at him. Brittany didn't notice.

"That way, they feel like you're taking an interest in them as a person, and they'll want to do the same for you." Lord Tubbington rolled over under Brittany's foot, his body flush against Santana's leg. She tried to gently shove him away. She didn't like cats, and Brittany's were weird.

"Santana, are you paying attention?"

Santana, who had been trying to inconspicuously wrench her foot out from underneath Lord Tubbington's gargantuan body, immediately straightened. "Uh."

"That's what I thought," Brittany sighed.

"Look, we can just accept that I'm going to be bad at this," Santana conceded. "I'll call Stupid New Girl and tell her I'm going to cancel. I have the plague, or something, and that I plan on dropping dead soon."

"Don't joke about that," Brittany scolded. "The plague killed, like, half of Medieval Europe's population. That's like, a hundred million dead people you just offended." She scooted forward on her stomach, so that she could scratch Lord Tubbington's belly properly. Fur floated through the air. Santana tried to snatch the tufts before they landed on her clothing.

"We just need to actually practice." Brittany ignored Santana's antics. "Like, hands-on learning."

Santana stopped plucking cat fur out of the air. "Like, what?"

"We're going on a practice date, this Thursday night. At Breadstix."

Santana gulped.

-

Santana got to chemistry before Tina did, for once. So she pulled out two aprons and two sets of goggles and gloves, and brought them back to their table. Tina was waiting for her, and grabbed her arm, yanking her towards her.

"I made out with Puck."

"What? Ow. And let go of me," Santana removed Tina's vice grip from around her wrist. It was the one the bracelet usually went on.

"I made out with Puck," Tina hissed, as if Santana didn't hear her properly the first time, and she reached out for Santana's wrist again as if that somehow made her statement more convincing. Santana smacked it away.

"He finally got to all of us, didn't he? Well, he'll be happy to have his perfect record."

"Santana, this is not like 'we got drunk at a party and made out' 'made out.' This is like, we've been hanging out a lot lately because I'm on the football team now. Normally we just toss the ball around and come up with plays. But yesterday he just walked into the girls locker room after we were done and kissed me. This is like, 'he kissed me' 'made out.'"

Tina leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands.

"Well, you're having the appropriate reaction to making out with Puck," Santana said calmly, attention completely focused on unfurling her apron. "Did you like it?"

"I said 'made out,' didn't I?" Tina mumbled from her gloved hands.

Santana snorted. "Well, this is something every girl at McKinley High has to deal with at some point, Rudy. Puck's going to stick his tongue down your throat at some point, and we all just have to deal."

Tina grumbled something, and sat back up. "I don't know. I don't understand him. I don't understand what we could possibly be. Ever."

"I thought you'd be down for a little no-strings-attached lovin'," Santana said, wrapping the apron ties around her waist and tossing the other to Tina. "You were all about Mike's abs this side of a year ago."

"It's Puck, though. Noah Puckerman, king of dirty jokes and inappropriate comments. I was proud of the fact that I was the last holdout, y'know? And now what? I'm no better than any other girl who fell for his stupid charms. No offense," she added.

"Uh, easy, tiger." Santana pulled the latex glove over her hand and snapped the wrist.

"Ugh." Tina strapped her goggles to her face, and winced. "And I have to see him at practice again after school."

"Good luck with that," Santana offered, and set to work on their experiment. There was enough relationship madness going on in her own life. She was going on a date with Brittany. Except this time it wasn't with other people. And technically, yet again, it wasn't a date, either.

Goddammit.

-

They had a table for two.

They'd never had a table for two. Never at Breadstix, anyways. Like, at the mall, they'd sit across from each other at a table. But that was at the food court in the middle of a Saturday.

This was unmistakably a date. Brittany had even dressed up, with a little retro dress and a big flower pinned to the strap of it. "We'll just pretend you bought me that," she'd whispered to Santana when she picked her up.

"But it's a manufactured part of the dress," Santana replied, confused.

"Still." Brittany marched past her, and towards Santana's car, stopping at the passenger door.

"It's unlocked." Santana circled around to the driver's side. But Brittany didn't move. She just looked at Santana with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, and suddenly Santana realized what she was waiting for.

"Oh." She traipsed back around to the other side, and opened the door for Brittany, who laughed.

"No one's ever done that for me before, but I always thought they should," she giggled as she ducked into the car. Santana grinned, and shook her head.

They talked on the ride, casually, even as Santana's palm sweat all over the gearshift. When they got to Breadstix, Santana hurried out of the car and to the passenger side so that she could open Brittany's door, and then they were seated at a table for two.

Facing each other.

Santana wondered if first date protocol involved vomiting in the bathroom out of sheer nerves and terror. Surely, for someone, it must be.

"It's all about conversation," Brittany began, leaning over the table. "You start."

"Okay, uh," Santana searched her brain, hands folded meekly in her lap. "Um, how was your school day, Brittany?"

"It was good," Brittany shrugged. "Finn got an A on his geometry test, so I think tutoring him has been helping. I'm an excellent teacher," she winked at Santana.

Santana couldn't suppress her smile.

"How was your day?"

"Um, it was okay," Santana thought. "Rachel and I fought over songs for Sectionals, and who should get the solo."

"She's really stressed out," Brittany said knowingly.

"Yeah, and she's taking out on me," Santana grumbled.

"Well, she's probably just lonely again without Finn. I told her she should hang out with Quinn because she's lonely too."

Santana shrugged, not finding this conversation particularly interesting.

Brittany leaned forward, and began to whisper to Santana as if she were sharing a secret. "You need to keep the conversation going, Santana. So either talk more about Rachel, or start something else, maybe by asking me a question."

Santana quashed down another grin, and poked at the menu. "Uh, okay. I have a question. Am I supposed to eat less food or something on a first date? Isn't that what girls do?"

Brittany smiled at her. "That's a good question. Honestly, a lot of girls do that, but I think it's silly. You should order whatever you feel like eating, and encourage your date to do the same."

"I'm not that hungry, though. Are you?"

Brittany considered. "We could split something."

So they split a chicken piccata, and made their way through more first date conversation, with Brittany assuredly praising Santana's high points and gently pointing out the more prickly moments of the evening.

Once they'd paid, and Santana had successfully opened all the doors between the restaurant and the car, they sat quietly with the engine running.

"Now what?"

"Well, either you have something else planned, or she does," Brittany adjusted the flower on her dress. "Are you planning this?"

Santana thought back to when Stupid New Girl asked her out, in the bathroom. It was a real goddamn sneaking way to ask someone out. There was no way she expected Santana to like, plan something, was there? "I don't think so?"

"Well, then you take me home."

"Oh." Santana tried to hide the disappointment in her voice, and rolled her car out onto the main drag. And quickly began to panic because of what was coming next.

The end-of-date kiss.

That was something people did, right? That was a thing? Front porch first kiss?

By the time they got back to Brittany's, Santana's hands were clammy and she was pretty sure there was no color in her face. She shakily got out of the car, let Brittany out, and walked her to the door.

And then just stood there, terrified. Was she supposed to kiss Brittany? They had a no-dating pact, but they were kind of breaking it, but not really, so was a no-kissing pact in place too?

Every possible option screamed through Santana's head as she just stared Brittany blankly in the face. And then, by some sort of miracle, Brittany took the reins.

"When you get to the door, you should tell her you had a really good time, okay?"

Santana nodded dumbly, and Brittany took a step towards her.

"And then you tell her you want to go out with her again."

Santana bobbed her head up and down again, feeling numb. Brittany grabbed both of her hands, letting them dangle.

"And then… you kiss her on the cheek." Brittany leaned in, and swiped a soft kiss to Santana's cheek.

Santana felt like she might burst into flames, and she wasn't sure if it was out of nerves, or embarrassment, or because Brittany just kissed her for the first time in over six months.

Yes, cheek kisses totally counted. Whatever.

Brittany pulled back, a stern look suddenly on her face. "But you have to make sure you ask her out again when you kiss her on the cheek, so she knows you had a good time and are still interested. Okay, Santana?"

Santana nodded again, like an idiot. "Okay." Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

"Okay." Brittany smiled sweetly, finally dropping Santana's hands. "I'll see you tomorrow?" And she bounded inside her house before Santana could answer, leaving her rooted to the spot on her front porch.

-

She decided to get ready for the Real Date at Quinn's, so she wouldn't have Brittany reminding her of all her notes, and being generally disruptive to Santana's emotional state and queasy stomach.

Quinn just sat there like a lump anyways, so it was much easier to concentrate on keeping her shit together.

Plus Quinn had better makeup than Brittany.

But the lights were on when she got there, and Quinn even had the television on. She was watching Funny Girl. That was... weird, but Santana had bigger things to worry about.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Quinn paused the movie, and walked up behind Santana in the mirror.

Santana bluffed, a devilish grin on her face. "Why wouldn't I be ready?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "If you say so."

"Zip me up," Santana commanded, lifting her hair off her neck. Quinn obliged, and when she was done, Santana whirled around.

"Do I look hot?" She kept the devilish grin, but deep down she just wanted to make sure. And Quinn would be honest with her.

Quinn chuckled. "You look hot."

-

There was only one problem with applying what she'd learned on the Practice Date to the Real Date: she was the one being taken out.

So, Santana had to try and remember everything Brittany did.

Stupid New Girl picked Santana up at her house, where she'd waited once she was done at Quinn's. She'd chirped a hello at her, told her she looked nice (Santana tried not to dwell on the word "nice" instead of "hot"), and led her to her car.

Where Santana promptly stopped at the passenger side door, and waited.

Stupid New Girl gave her a funny look over the top of the car.

Santana cleared her throat, and looked pointedly at the door.

"Oh!" Stupid New Girl laughed, and hurried around the front of the car, and opened Santana's door for her.

"Thank you," Santana huffed dramatically, and got in the car.

"So, Breadstix, huh?" Stupid New Girl was buckling herself up and accelerating down the street.

"Yep," Santana nodded, trying to discreetly wipe her sweaty palms on her dress.

"You don't ever get tired of that place?"

Santana swiveled in her seat. "I really don't think you understand what Breadstix is. Or else you would clearly not be asking me these questions."

With any other person, they would have clammed up at Santana's bitchy responses, but Stupid New Girl just laughed.

Santana eyed her. You are a mystery, Stupid New Girl.

They still rode with the radio on after that, though.

-

"So, I have a question." They'd ordered, each of them getting their own meal, and the waitress had finally left them alone. It was Conversation Time. And luckily for Santana, Stupid New Girl took the lead.

"Go on," Santana took a sip of her drink.

"Why do you only ever call me New Girl? I do have a real name," Stupid New Girl smiled a twinkly smile at Santana. How the fuck was she so damn charming?

"Well, your real name's kind of stupid," Santana shrugged.

Stupid New Girl laughed again.

"Fair point. My mom's kind of an idiot," she grinned.

It was contagious. Santana's first instinct was to scowl, but she found herself grinning back at her.

And then silence overtook the table.

Dammit! Conversation! Santana wracked her brain for Brittany's pointers. Interesting, and interested. Okay. She could do this.

Santana poked at the silverware on the table, and took the plunge. "So, you're from Philadelphia?"

Stupid New Girl smiled again, and nodded. "Yeah. My dad's originally from this area, though, so we moved back because his mom's sick."

"That sucks." It was a completely genuine reaction.

"Yeah," Stupid New Girl agreed. "I miss Philly sometimes. There's good history there, and a lot of good people. My parents actually both worked at Independence Hall, as those people who dress up as early Americans and give tours? Totally dorky." She shrugged. "But they loved it. And now… now, my mom's a telemarketer and my dad works at the grocery store, so. That kind of sucks too."

Suddenly Santana realized how shitty it must be to move from an interesting, busy, free city to Lima, Ohio, in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere. And she suddenly understood why everyone liked Sugar, and why Sugar liked her.

Neither of them belonged here.

-

Conversation had been pretty easy after that realization, and Santana found her nerves ebbing away the longer they talked. Once they'd paid, they made their way back out to the car, with Santana standing by each closed door until Sugar opened it for her.

"Now what?" Santana asked, settling into her seat.

"Um, I take you home?" Sugar offered.

Santana chuckled. "That's fine, yeah."

And then, Santana's nerves kicked back into high gear. Because it was time for the end of the date. Did Sugar expect a full-on kiss? Or a cheek kiss?

Wait, was this even really a date? Are we sure Sugar liked girls? Goddammit, why didn't this come up at dinner?!

A million doubts screamed through Santana's brain to the point where she wasn't even sure this was actually happening. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe Sugar was a hologram. A heterosexual hologram.

Oh god.

They'd arrived at Santana's house.

Santana's dad's car was in the driveway.

Shit.

Sugar unbuckled, and Santana immediately reached for her own door handle. "Uh, it's okay. You can let me out here." She yanked on it in panic, and realized she was blowing all end-of-date protocol out of the water. So she turned, quickly, and blurted out what Brittany told her to say.

"IhadareallygoodtimeIdon'tknowifyoudidbutit'dbegreatifwecoulddothisagainsometime." It came out all in one breath.

Sugar laughed as Santana whirled back towards the door, and caught her arm.

"Santana."

Santana let the door fall shut again, and turned around. Sugar pulled her arm towards her, and leaned in, kissing Santana lightly on the lips.

Santana's legs went all tingly, but that could have been because of the awkward twisty way she was sitting.

As she pulled back, Sugar smiled at her, and Santana was pretty sure her own expression was pretty dopey. She cleared her throat a couple times, unable to gain composure.

"Next Friday?"

Santana nodded dumbly, in an annoying echo of the end of her practice date with Brittany.

"Okay. I'll pick you up?"

Santana wordlessly bobbed her head up and down, grabbed her purse, and waved once to Sugar before she let herself in her house.

Her dad had been reading in his study anyways, and didn't even ask Santana how her day was.

So much for this conversation thing.

-

"She kissed you?!" Brittany stared at Santana, mouth agape. It was Sunday again, and Brittany had insisted Santana spill the details of her date. Something about teachers getting feedback about the success of their pupils, or something.

"Is that so hard to believe? I'm good at some things," Santana grumbled, trying to kick Lord Tubbington's mouse toys away from her feet.

"No, that's not it, San; I'm just happy for you!" Brittany grinned. "I'm glad she took the plunge. And I'm glad you did, too."

Santana smiled a big, genuine grin. Brittany just looked at her, silently, with a lopsided smile on her face. Santana squirmed under the scrutiny.

"You look happy," Brittany commented finally. Santana didn't really know what to say to that. She felt happy, she guessed. Was it weird that she was getting happy with someone other than Brittany? She didn't ever think it would work out that way.

She deflated a bit, letting the grin fade from her face. "Yeah, I guess so. But I'm still nervous I could screw this up. We're going out again on Friday."

"Want another practice date? Rachel and I don't do karaoke as much on Thursdays anymore, now that school's started. So I'm free."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Except this time you need to take me out so I know what to do this time," Santana exhaled, and a ran a hand through her hair.

"Good idea," Brittany nodded. "Pick you up at 6?"

-

It was always a bitch being around sulky Puck. Or, more accurately, a sulky Puck was simply a little bitch. He couldn't do shit to help their chemistry lab right now. All he could seem to do was scratch angry, black-ink doodles into the margins of her notebook - not his, which he conveniently couldn't seem to find.

It bears repeating: a little bitch.

"Can you get your head out of your ass for two seconds to help me with this?" Santana knew she sounded bossy and shrill, but she didn't care. She fucking wanted a good grade in this class, and she was tired of doing all the work.

Puck sighed, and held out his hand for Santana to drop a beaker onto.

"I just don't get it, Santana."

"I don't get it either, Puck. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Tina." He sighed again.

"Oh, Jesus." Santana rolled her eyes and consulted the lab book for the next step in the process. "What's there to get?"

"She's just… scared or some shit. I think she likes being around me. We have a good time hanging out, and I like that she's a badass. Girl can take a tackle. And we flirt and she laughs and her face kind of lights up... like a menorah." Puck's face washed over into a daze, and Santana rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure one of her parents is Jewish. And plus, she's a fucking pro at tonguing."

Santana gagged exaggeratedly.

"Whatever. But I don't think she wants to like, be with me. Like date me, and shit. I don't get it! Girls never want to fucking date me. I know like, I used to be kind of an asshole, but I tried really hard with Quinn, and Rachel. And Mercedes. And Lauren." He ticked them off on his latex-gloved fingers.

Santana's next question fell silent on her tongue. For a fleeting moment, she considered not even asking at all - she was afraid what the answer might be. But curiosity and masochism won out. Plus, very little snaked through Santana Lopez's brain without exiting her mouth simultaneously. So. "Did you try with me, Puck?"

It came out defensive and harsh. As intended.

But Puck didn't even stop to consider. "I was different then, bro. And so were you. But I liked when you were happy. Does that count for anything?"

Santana thought for a moment, and that stupid text message from Kurt sitting frozen in her inbox flashed in her mind. Then she thought about Sugar. And Brittany. And Sugar and Brittany. She sighed. "Yeah, that counts. Even if you were kind of an ass."

"What is it about me, huh? Is it the mohawk? My bad-boy status? The nipple rings? How is this undateable? I bring girls drinks every morning, and I get fucking tested for STDs and shit. I haven't gone after a cougar in at least a year, and I try to be a good guy. Sometimes I screw up, but who doesn't? I fucking try."

Santana sighed again. "She's scared of your reputation, asshole."

Puck looked up at her, waiting for more. Santana sighed again, not particularly wanting to delineate what really should be obvious. But she put down the dropper, and looked Puck in the eye.

"You're like the guy version of me. You have the reputation of sleeping around, and not ever wanting to be in a relationship. You're a notch-in-the-bedpost kind of guy. And girls don't want to be a notch. Especially not Tina, because for the longest time she was the smartest girl in this place for not ever sticking her tongue down your throat. Then she stuck her tongue down your throat, apparently liked it, and likes you enough to want to be around you, but she doesn't want to just be another Puckerman conquest. Your reputation's stuck with you, brother, no matter how many times you lay it on the line for a girl. And it also doesn't help that you got a girl you weren't dating pregnant. You defiled Quinn Fabray. Face it, Puckerman. You're bad news."

"Well, fuck." Puck cradled his head in his hands, running the tips along the edge of his mohawk. "This fucking sucks."

"It's ironic, is what it is," Santana said brusquely, rinsing out the beaker. "Because this side of two years ago, a fucking reputation is all we wanted."

Puck groaned.

-

Thursday rolled around quickly, and Santana found herself sitting on her doorstep waiting anxiously for Brittany to arrive. Her car pulled up at 5:57, because Brittany was always early, which no one ever seemed to believe was true.

Santana waved, but Brittany rushed out of her car frowning.

"You look nice," Santana commented. It was true. Brittany was wearing tights and polka dot dress, with her hair pulled back in a wispy bun.

Brittany ignored her. "Why are you sitting out here?" she cried.

"I'm... waiting for you?" Santana stood up, puzzled.

"No, no, no," Brittany shook her head. I need to ring the doorbell, and wait nervously for you to open the door so I can see you!"

"Oh." Santana turned around, and let herself back into her house, shutting the door behind her.

"Are you ready?" Brittany called from outside.

"Yes!" Santana hollered back, with a grin and an eyeroll.

The doorbell rang. Santana gamely waited a few second before opening the door, revealing Brittany smiling shyly on her doorstep.

"Hi," Santana grinned.

"Hi," Brittany smiled.

"You look nice," Santana tried again.

"Why thank you," Brittany batted her eyelashes, and offered Santana her hand. "Are you ready?"

Santana nodded, and let her palm slide against Brittany's, her fingers clasping tightly around the other side. Brittany led her to the car, and opened the door for her.

Santana's heart fluttered the entire time Brittany held her hand.

-

"She's picking me up here this time, okay, Quinn?" Santana called out from the bathroom. "It's easier 'coz it's on her way to Breadstix from her house."

"There are other restaurants in town, y'know," Quinn replied.

"Not any worth mentioning!" Santana shot back. She emerged from the bathroom.

"How do I look?" She pivoted to the side, sticking a hand on her hip and looking over her shoulder. "All the famous bitches pose like this."

Quinn chuckled. "You look hot."

This time, Santana already knew she did. She was wearing dark red, her power color, in a mercilessly short dress. Damn right, she looked hot.

She turned to look at Quinn. "What the fuck are you wearing?" Santana dropped her arms. Quinn was laying on her bed with a book, wrapped up in an oversize 90s sweatshirt that had the words "NEW YORK CITY" scrawled across it in neon embroidery.

"Oh. It's Rachel's. She left it here, and I'm cold." Santana lifted an eyebrow. "It was on my bed, and I didn't want to get up," she added defensively, scowling at Santana.

Santana chose not to point out that Quinn could have simply gotten under the covers.

See? She was being nicer these days.

-

Dinner at Breadstix had been uneventful. Santana felt much less nervous than their first date, and Sugar seemed just as interested the second time around.

In all, they'd had a good time.

Which may have had something to do with the fact that they ended up making out in Sugar's car afterwards.

It wasn't this big lascivious thing, but hell, Santana was wearing a skimpy red dress, and when they'd gotten in the car, Santana said "Now what?" and she found out her answer soon enough, as Sugar smiled deviously and leaned over the gearshift.

It was good, obviously. This is where Santana excelled. Not with the dating and the conversation and the opening up about her life, but with the kissing.

Yes, the kissing. The kissing was good.

And she would like to prove to Sugar that the kissing was good. So she currently had one hand in Sugar's hair, and the other hand on the edge of the driver's seat, holding her up as she'd taken control and leaned their equilibrium back over the center console.

Sure, it was a little fast, but she didn't think either of them cared because Santana was really doing her best work here.

Sugar moaned.

Yep. Good, solid work.

Santana chuckled into their kissing, and ran her fingers down from Sugar's scalp to the nape of her neck. In turn, Sugar's fingers danced up Santana's sides, and then back down to her hips.

And then, suddenly -

"Santana." Sugar mumbled into Santana's mouth.

"Mm?" Santana went back in for one more kiss, sucking a little bit on Sugar's bottom lip.

"We should talk about this." Santana pulled back, studying Sugar in the moonlight. She resettled herself into her proper seat.

"What, exactly, are we doing?" Sugar wasn't treating Santana like she would explode at any second. Apparently she just didn't find Santana as intimidating as everyone else did. So she talked to her like a normal human being, and not like a caged animal.

"Well," Santana crossed her arms bitchily, trying to ignore the fact that her body was still humming a little bit. "We were making out in the parking lot of Breadstix; which, yeah, there are classier places than this, but, I mean, I didn't hear any complaining, so."

"Are you… out?"

Santana scoffed, to buy her some time. Because really, this wasn't the conversation she wanted to be having. She was already out on a limb with this dating thing, and this dating a girl thing and this trying to be happy thing, that she really was hoping that she didn't have to talk about it. She was making the effort, right? Making out with a girl in the parking lot of Breadstix?

But then she realized that she'd done the exact same thing with Brittany countless times, and her defense completely washed away.

"No. Not really. I am to Brittany, and I think a few glee kids know. Quinn, most likely. Probably Rachel. Maybe Mike and Tina and Puck."

"Have you dated a girl before?"

Santana exhaled loudly, and looked out the window. That was a loaded question.

"Uh. Well, sorta. I'm not so good at dating, with any gender. Kind of a… warm body type of girl." She decided to stop using the word "lizard." It was decidedly not sexy.

Sugar chuckled. "Alright."

"But," Santana rushed on. "I'm…" she closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headrest, sucking in some air. "… trying. To be better at dating. Hence the... you know... dating." She gestured blindly in the space between the driver's and passenger's seat, eyes still closed. "And also hence the 'me-not-being-so-good-at-it.'" She peeked an eye open and tilted her head towards Sugar.

She was met with a smile. Sugar shifted forward again. "I dunno; I think you're better than you think you are."

"Oh yeah?" Santana raised her eyebrows, in mock intrigue.

"Mm-hmm," Sugar leaned forward and kissed Santana chastely. Santana felt her stomach do a little flip-flop.

"I just wanted to know… what the rules were," Sugar finished, as she kissed her way down to Santana's jawline. Fucking rules, Santana thought. "Because we're making out in a dark car in a dark parking lot right now. Seems like somebody wouldn't want anyone to see." The kisses trailed down Santana's neck.

It was the biggest mindfuck. She felt like this was a conversation that should make her feel bad. But Sugar was sucking lightly on Santana's skin, and everything just felt really, really good.

"Should we talk to each other at school? Do we hold hands? Do I need to know when your birthday is? Should I meet your friends?" Between each question, Sugar kissed a different spot on Santana's neck, and Santana let out a strangled little gargle.

"Yes - sometimes - uh, of course - and probably," Santana replied, as Sugar sat back from her neck and looked at her curiously.

"Look, I'm trying," Santana continued. If you had asked her this at any other time, when a hot girl hadn't just had her mouth attached to Santana's neck, she probably would have remembered that really, the biggest reason she was trying to date was to maybe get a second shot with Brittany. Or maybe to placate Brittany. Or make Brittany happy.

She couldn't really remember right now, anyway. It had something to do with Brittany.

But right now her heartbeat was pounding in her ears, and she just really, really liked the way Sugar was looking at her.

"I just don't want to hide," Sugar replied. "Our relationship, or who I am. It's not really part of my life plan."

Santana nodded. "That sounds... good."

And honestly, it actually did. Because she and Sugar didn't belong here. What's the point of hiding in a place where you can't fit in anyways?

-

After that, Santana met with Sugar every day at her locker, which wasn't that difficult considering they were six lockers apart from one another, and they came there between every class. To anyone looking, though, they simply appeared to be friends. Sugar didn't push Santana for any public displays of affection, and treated her as thought they were casual acquaintances, laughing lightly at all of Santana's complaining about getting nowhere with Rachel and Sectionals, and chatting with Kurt as they walked through the halls to class.

On some days, Kurt wasn't with them, which seemed to Sugar like happenstance, but honestly Santana had asked Mercedes and Sam to walk with him on some days. She told Kurt about the change, in complete serious, and he rolled his eyes at her.

"Please, Santana. I'm not a child." And then he turned on his heel and marched away, pocket chain swaying with every step.

And it was true - he'd been fine without her. She still took him some days, though, without Sugar there. It felt right. But every time she saw Kurt, she thought about that text message, and every time she saw Sugar, she thought about their conversation in the car.

She didn't see Brittany all that much, because Santana's birthday was a little more than a week away, and, like every year, Brittany had started randomly scribbling in a notebook, texting constantly, and mysteriously disappearing after school.

Santana knew exactly what was happening, though: her surprise party was in the works.

-

Santana endured a full week of Brittany making up excuse after excuse as to why she was so busy - schoolwork, dance, working on a plan to free the house elves. It wasn't so bad; she mostly thought it was hilarious that Brittany tried so hard to surprise her, and that she was consistently bad at lying. She missed hanging out with her a little bit, though, because keeping the secret was easier if Santana wasn't around to pry.

But that would soon be over, anyways, because October 29th had arrived.

"So, today's my birthday," Santana drawled, as she leaned up against the locker next to Sugar's. She removed a book from it, and looked at Santana.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Brittany has a surprise party planned tonight."

"How do you know about it, then?"

"She's planned one every year since we were 10, and she's really bad at keeping secrets. So it'll be at her house tonight, at 9. You should come."

"Like, with you?" She shut her locker, and the started down the hallway together.

"Well, I'd say yes, but I'm going to be out with Brittany beforehand. It's part of the ruse." She used air quotes, grinning. "But Quinn and Mike usually get the party ready, and then Brittany brings me back to her place and everybody jumps out and I act surprised."

Sugar laughed. "Okay, I'll be there at 9, ready to jump out at you."

"Good," Santana purred, and pulled them into an empty classroom. She pushed Sugar up against the door, and kissed her slowly, pressing her body into hers. "Because I want you to be there."

Sugar grinned against the kiss, and grabbed at Santana's hips. "Did Kurt get to class okay?"

Santana sucked on her lip as she pulled away. "This is really not the time to be talking about Kurt."

Sugar leaned up off the wall and kissed Santana chastely in apology. "I just wanted to make sure he's safe. I know how much you care about him."

Santana stole another kiss, licking along Sugar's lower lip and letting the moment draw out. Sugar let out a little moan from the back of her throat. Finally, Santana released her mouth from her own. "Sam and Mercedes walked him."

"This is really not the time to be talking about Sam and Mercedes," Sugar replied breathlessly, and this time she reached out for Santana's face, taking it between her hands. Santana fell into her touch, and went back to the kissing.

They were a little late to class.

-

That afternoon, Santana had gamely agreed to hang out with Brittany while everyone else set up the party. Of course, Brittany didn't know Santana knew that, so Santana just said, "My whole evening's free, Britt," and let Brittany pick out what they were going to do.

So they hung out at Santana's house for a little while, curled up under the same blanket watching "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" for the hundredth time.

"I always feel bad that Linus never gets to meet the Great Pumpkin," Brittany commented somewhere in the middle. Of course, this from the girl who still believes in Santa Claus.

"Are you kidding? I always feel bad for Charlie Brown," Santana replied. "Poor fucker got rocks instead of candy. What kind of lame-ass adults live in his neighborhood? That's a real shitty deal."

Brittany nodded in agreement, and went back to watching.

"I never get this part with the Red Baron. Snoopy can't talk, but he can fly a plane that's really a doghouse? It doesn't make any sense. He should at least be flying a plane." Brittany reached for the remote, and pressed fast-forward. "And it's kind of boring, too."

When the movie was over, they got a bite to eat at a diner in town, and Brittany kept not-so-discreetly checking her phone for texts.

"Who keeps texting you?" Santana asked innocently, dragging a french fry through mayonnaise. Just because she had to pretend to be surprised didn't mean she couldn't play with Brittany a little bit.

"Oh, nobody," Brittany replied, snapping her phone shut. She reddened. "Just Mike."

"Yeah? What's Mikey up to tonight?" Santana sipped on her milkshake.

"Um," Brittany began to absentmindedly rearrange the french fries on her plate. "He's… dancing."

Santana nodded sagely, as if this totally made enough sense to throw her off the trail. Really, just seeing Brittany try to lie had been hilariously adorable.

-

Finally, Brittany flipped her phone shut one last time, and announced, "I'm ready to go home." She stretched her arms out dramatically and yawned. Santana just grinned.

"Okay. Take me home?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to lend you that… tea kettle I was telling you about."

It was all Santana could do not to snicker.

"A tea kettle?"

"Oh, I guess I didn't tell you about it. It's just… my mom's really good tea kettle. I thought maybe you could… take it to Quinn's since it's so cold in her house?"

"Oh, totally," Santana replied, nodding seriously.

So they had the excuse to drive back to Brittany's house first, and Santana didn't say anything about the dozens of cars parked on the street. Or the fact that the curtains fluttered in the front window as they drove up.

No, she followed Brittany up the walk, the picture of nonchalance, and then jumped back in shock when everyone yelled "Surprise!" at her from the foyer.

"You guys!" Okay, so knew about it ahead of time, but she still couldn't help grinning like an idiot. She also couldn't help turning to Brittany and enveloping her in a hug.

"Thanks, B," she whispered against her ear.

When they pulled away, Brittany was smiling proudly down at her. Then, she patted Santana on the butt and ushered her into the house. "Go, go, go! It's your party!"

Brittany had basically invited the entire upper class, for some reason. Glee kids were there, football players were there, drama nerds, cheerleaders, hockey players, mathletes - pretty much everybody. Leave it to Brittany to convince all the sharks to play nice with the minnows.

Brittany handed Santana a drink, and she started her way through the crowd. Music kicked up, and it quickly turned into your average high school party.

Santana passed by Sam, Mercedes, Puck, and Tina, all sitting around talking animatedly. They all wished her happy birthday, Puck clapping her on the back, and Tina and Mercedes giving her tight hugs. Even Sam seemed willing to forget their somewhat regrettable junior year experiences, and pulled her into a half-hug.

Mike, Brittany, Artie, and Finn were playing flip cup, so Santana didn't linger by them. She just squeezed Mike's shoulder, patted Brittany on the ass, and kept walking.

She spotted Rachel, Quinn, and Kurt, all three looking pretty hilariously awkward by the DVD shelf. Santana chuckled to herself.

"Ahh, ¡mis queridas!" She rushed over to them, feeling pretty good now that she had a little beer in her, and that the music was turned up loud. All three were happy to see her, too, simply because it gave them something to do. So she leaned in to thank them for coming, and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek - even Rachel.

Whatever; she was Latina. That's how Latinas did things.

"Happy birthday, Santana," Kurt murmured in her ear when she hugged him. "Your girl's over there."

Santana squeezed him in thanks, and left the three to their awkwardness.

Sugar was standing halfway between the kitchen and the living room, talking to some football jock who towered over her. He may have been hitting on her too; Santana couldn't really tell. Nor did she particularly care. But when she slunk across the room, she definitely made certain she was in Sugar's line of sight.

Sure enough, Sugar spotted her, and gently pushed the football player out of her way.

"Hi," Santana said, only stopping when she was within millimeters of Sugar's body.

"Happy birthday," Sugar replied, a somewhat devious spark in her eyes. She wrapped her arm around Santana's back.

Santana really wanted to just kiss her. But she couldn't, not really. Not with all these people around. Nobody knew about her and Sugar except Kurt and Brittany.

And suddenly, that seemed really, really stupid.

Sugar was right. Brittany had been right. She was not going to hide.

This was her birthday party, dammit. She would kiss whomever she damn well pleased.

Her whole life was her party. She could fucking kiss whoever the fuck she wanted.

"Hang on a second," Santana reached around with her free hand and grabbed Sugar's from her back. Sugar stepped away, trying to pull her hand out of Santana's grip.

"No, no, no," Santana shook her head. She knew Sugar was attempting to put some space between them. "Not what I'm saying."

She tightened her grip on Sugar's hand and made her way to the center of the living room, where Sam, Mercedes, Puck, and Tina were sitting around the coffee table.

Santana stepped up onto the table, handing her drink to Puck along the way. She yanked Sugar up there with her, even though it was kind of a small coffee table and there wasn't really room for two.

"Excuse me, everyone!" Santana hollered intimidatingly. She was in prime Lopez form right now. She could have yelled the word "poop" and everybody would have given her silent attention and reverence.

"I would just like everyone to know," she began, clearing her throat for dramatic effect. "...that I... am Capital G Gay, and that we, New Girl and I" - she gestured back and forth between her and Sugar - "are dating. I know you're all jealous, but try not to let that bother you! Okay, thanks for coming to my party!"

And she wrapped her arms around Sugar and kissed the look of shock right off her face.

Silence smothered the room. But somewhere in the crowd, someone let out a whoop. Santana broke the kiss to see who it was. Most everyone was just staring at her.

But there, in the sea of disbelieving faces, was Brittany. She hopped up and down, clapping. "Yeah, Santana!"

Santana flushed at the reaction.

She'd done the right thing.


	3. Chapter 3

After her birthday party, Santana thought that walking through the hallways might be tough.

But it really wasn't.

She still walked with Kurt, and sometimes football players snickered as they walked by the Lesbian and the Gay Guy, but Santana found herself not caring. No one was physically threatening her, or Kurt, so that was good. Maybe Ms. Pillsbury was slowly counseling the dickishness out of all the students at McKinley.

Or maybe the fact that Kurt and Santana were walking around, out and proud, was changing things. Santana didn't really know.

When she walked with Sugar, sometimes they held hands, and sometimes people stared, or cat-called. Apparently hand-holding was different than pinky-linking. But Santana glared at them, and pretty soon even those incidents faded away.

Sugar was practically untouchable, anyways. Everybody still loved her, and Santana had a sneaking suspicion that everyone saw her as the one who made Santana Lopez stop being such a real bitch.

It wasn't true, obviously. Santana was still a bitch. She hadn't really changed anything about herself, which was an enormous relief. She just couldn't be bothered to lash out at people with it these days, because she was kind of busy with glee, and cheerleading, and dating, and so really, her time was taken.

Plus, Sugar seemed to kind of like Santana's bitchiness, or at the very least, it didn't faze her, so Santana considered that a huge plus.

At the next football game, Sugar even sat with Rachel, Kurt, Quinn and Mercedes. Rachel had made an exclamation point sign for Sugar to hold, and insisted that Quinn switch letters with her so that Rachel could sit by her. Which was a big deal, because previously Rachel had been the T, and therefore the most important. But then she made Quinn switch with Mercedes so that Quinn became the N, and could sit next to Rachel too.

It was ridiculous, Santana told Sugar.

But sweet, Sugar told Santana.

And secretly, Santana kind of agreed.

She had had to deal with Coach Sylvester, though, in the wake of her birthday party confession. She called her into her office, abruptly told her to sit down, and eyed her suspiciously.

"If this gets in the way of us winning a national championship, then I will have your surgically-altered hide faster than you can say Delta Burke," she began.

"Delta Burke isn't gay," Santana interjected.

Sylvester held up a halting hand.

"Just don't let me catch you having sex with any of the girls on the squad."

Santana figured it'd be best not to tell Coach that it was a little too late for that one.

-

November began, and once Rachel realized it was basically a month until Sectionals, she took to rambling at a mile a minute about nothing in particular whenever she saw Santana. It was kind of like watching a baby dachshund chasing its tail in a neverending bout of energy, except way less cute. Every time Santana saw her in the hallways, she ducked behind football players and dodged into classrooms to avoid her.

But their meetings were basically set in stone, and so Santana found herself in the glee classroom, perched on the piano top while Rachel sat on the bench, clutching a glass of water with both hands like a child who just woke up with a nightmare.

"Do you feel better?" Santana asked sternly.

Rachel downed another gulp of water, nodding. "I just get really nervous about Sectionals. This is our last year, and I just want everything to be perfect and all we've done is just argue about it. And… I feel unsettled without Finn being here, to be honest. Oh god, I'm going to be even worse with Regionals and Nationals. Santana," she turned to other girl with an expression of the utmost gravity. "I may need to ask you to carry an epi pen, or an inhaler, or something, just in case I have a panic attack when we're prepping for Regionals and Nationals. You're going to have to find some way to calm me down." She frowned. "Maybe we should take Lamaze classes together just to learn the breathing patterns."

Horror flooded through Santana's body. "I am not going to Lamaze classes with you, Berry, honestly. Get a hold of yourself. We're going to be fine."

"We don't have a plan! We've just been bickering for six weeks!"

"So let's start the plan now!" Santana bitched. She was reaching the end of her patience. "Easy solution."

"Well, we need three songs, obviously," Rachel began. "Preferably two group numbers with a variety of leads. And then a solo. Or duet," she frowned. "One of which I would like to participate strongly in."

"Yeah, you and everybody else," Santana shot back.

"Actually," Rachel began again. "I'd like to do a duet with Finn, if possible."

"Are you shitting me with this?"

"No," Rachel said defensively. "I just… for old time's sake. It's how the club began, and it's how I want to remember it by. Even if we're not together."

"Yeah, it's how it began for you," Santana snorted. "Just because you and Mr. Quarterback came together to make beautiful music together doesn't mean that's what happened with the rest of us. Besides, you don't get to do shit like that. You guys are broken up."

"Yes, but we could do a breakup song, like, 'You've Lost that Loving Feeling,' or… or… 'The Way We Were!'" Rachel's eyes lit up with desperation.

"No," Santana said emphatically. "You'll depress the everloving shit out of everyone, and you'll screw with Finn's head, and he'll try and taste your tonsils onstage again. And it's not fair to anyone else. I mean, mostly me, but whatever. Or anyone else."

"I don't have my tonsils anymore." Rachel seemed to think the best way to fight was now through petulance. Great.

"I don't care. You're not doing a duet with Hudson. If you want things to be like old times, why did you even break up with him then?"

Oh, Santana wished she hadn't asked that question. There were things in this world she didn't care about - a lot of things - and one of them would always, without fail, be the relationship status of Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry.

But it was too late. She asked the question, trying to win the argument. And at first she thought maybe she'd gotten out of hearing an answer in some miracle of Rachel deciding not to overshare with a ridiculous neverending monologue. In fact, she just stared down at the piano keys, hands in her lap, completely silent.

Santana was about the change the subject completely, with inward celebration of her argument-winning triumph, when Rachel finally spoke up. "I just realized… I spent my entire high school career chasing after a boy. Who, as much as I tried to believe otherwise, didn't always know how he felt about me." Santana saw tears collecting at the corner of her eyes. Oh, jesus. Were there tissues in here?

"And… I let him get in the way of so many things. I could have been friends with Quinn a lot sooner, I think. That would have been nice. Or with Puck. We could've gone to temple together. And I wouldn't worry so much about the future, or whether or not I was going to lose my quarterback boyfriend because I did something stupid." The tears started to flow, now, and Santana hopped up off the piano without a word.

"Santana, where are you-?" Rachel stopped crying momentarily, thinking Santana was walking out on her.

But instead, Santana re-emerged from Mr. Schuester's office with a box of tissues, and set them squarely in front of Rachel, then re-crossed her arms.

"Thank you," Rachel sniffled, grabbing at a tissue.

"Look. You started high school hung up on the cool guy, and yeah, for whatever reason, you got him for awhile. But things change. You don't finish high school the way you started it. And if you don't actually want to be with him, you can't still try to be around him just because it makes you feel better about yourself. So nut up, and actually do what you were trying to do when you broke up with him."

"Which is…?"

"Be your own person, Rachel, geez. Sing a duet with somebody else. It's not that hard. Least of all for you." Santana hopped back up onto the piano.

"Can I ask you something?"

"No."

"Why aren't you with Brittany?"

"No."

"I mean, I really like Sugar. I think you guys are really cute together. I'm just… curious."

"No."

"Okay." Rachel shut up after that, and they set about designing a plan for the competition.

-

The only problem with being co-captain of glee, and being on the Cheerios, and having a full-time girlfriend was that Santana didn't get to see Brittany as much anymore. Brittany had said they'd see way more of each other this year, but honestly she felt the farthest away from Brittany that she ever had before.

Truthfully, it sucked.

But, as if by some sort of freak providence, her phone rang. Santana grinned at the caller ID, and answered it. "Speak of the devil!"

There was a brief pause. "...why were you talking about the devil?"

"Never mind, Britt. So what's up?"

"Nothing. Just called to talk to you."

"What about?"

"Nothing, I guess."

"Oh. Well, actually," an idea sparked in Santana's head. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, New Girl and I have another date on Friday."

"Oh, cool!" Santana tried not to let the enthusiasm in Brittany's voice bother her.

"Yeah, but this time I'm supposed to be taking her out and stuff. Can we do another run-through? I really don't want to screw it up."

"Sure," Brittany replied, almost immediately. "Tomorrow night, pick me up at 5?"

Santana felt much better after hanging up, forty minutes later.

Partly because she and Brittany had come up with a plan to hijack Rachel's wardrobe next week, but also because she and Brittany had time to talk together, like they used to.

-

Santana arrived on Brittany's doorstep promptly at 4:59, which took a lot of effort, because usually, Santana was late. She knew that this meant that Brittany spent most of their lives waiting on her, because Britt usually got somewhere five minutes ahead of time, and Santana got there fifteen minutes late.

And if that wasn't an accurate metaphor for their relationship, Santana didn't know what was.

She rang the doorbell, smoothing her free hand over her jeans. She'd told Brittany to dress casually, too - which Brittany had, as she flung open the door and revealed that she was simply wearing a belted sweater and tights.

"You brought flowers?"

"Oh!" Santana shoved the bouquet in Brittany's face, hoping she wasn't turning red. "I just thought, I dunno, that it'd be a good… gesture, or something. For a third date."

Brittany smiled, and took them, sniffing them. "They're beautiful, San. Hang on, I'm going to put them inside."

Santana had tried to plan something unique and creative for the third date, but it was difficult, in Lima in November. All the trees and stuff were dead, and it was starting to get genuinely cold, and honestly there was only so much you could do in this town anyways.

But Santana did some research.

"We're not going to Breadstix?" Brittany said incredulously as Santana drove them past the restaurant without even slowing down.

Santana shook her head, smiling over at Brittany. "Got a better idea."

After about a twenty minute drive out of Lima, Santana pulled over on the side of the road and ran around to Brittany's side of the car to open the door. Brittany stepped out, and looked around at… well, nothing. They were in the middle of nowhere. It was sunset, which was creating a peaceful buttery yellow glow over everything, but it was still the middle of nowhere.

"Santana, these are the railroad tracks."

"Yes, exactly." Santana led Brittany over to the tracks, which were old, and rusted, with weeds poking through the rails. She held Brittany's hand, and walked backwards along the path. "You'll tell me if a train's behind me, yeah?"

Brittany just laughed, her breath fogging up in the cold air. She nodded.

"Okay, good. So. You and I were both born in this shitty-ass town, and we didn't really get a say in that. And we are who we are, and this town is what it is, and we should really just make our peace with that." Santana continued leading Brittany by the hand, along the middle of the tracks, taking careful steps backwards so as not to trip. "And so, I tried to learn a little more about Lima. I mean, I just looked it up on Wikipedia. And really, there's literally nothing here. But," she paused for dramatic effect. "Apparently, in the 1800s, this was a really big railroad town. And like, there was this railroad called the B&O, which, I know what you're thinking, is a terrible name for a railroad. And it stopped through here. So I was thinking about it. No one ever stops in Lima. You could just… get back on the train, and before you knew it, you could be in D.C., or Baltimore, or Philadelphia, or New York."

She stopped walking. "No one ever had to stop in Lima. There was always a ticket out of here, on that really shitty-named railroad. People could just… pass through." She shrugged, and swung hers and Brittany's hands back and forth a little bit. "So that could be us."

Brittany just studied her for a second, in that gently intrusive way that only Brittany could, and finally squeezed Santana's hand. "That's really beautiful, Santana."

"Yeah?"

"Sugar's gonna love it. This is a really good date."

Oh. Oh, yeah. Santana dropped Brittany's hand and immediately shoved her own in her pockets. "Yeah, I think so. Especially 'coz, y'know, you could get to Philadelphia on that railroad, and that's where she's from, and everything. She'll probably wanna go back there, after we graduate."

"Will you go with her?" Brittany suddenly asked. "Go to college there, or something?"

"I dunno." Santana rubbed her toe in the dirt. "Hadn't really thought about it. What're you gonna do?"

"Go to L.A., probably." Brittany shrugged. "Mike and I are talking about teaming up and trying to get jobs dancing out there. I don't know if I'm going to get that cheerleading scholarship for sure, so I need a back-up plan."

"Yeah. But you'll get it, B, are you kidding? You're the best one on the squad."

"Yeah, but still. Plus I think Mike needs something to look forward to, right now. He still isn't over Tina, I don't think."

Santana exhaled, and casually took Brittany's hand again as they started walking back to the car. The sun had sunk mostly below the horizon, and the chill of twilight was setting in. "Yeah, I feel bad for the poor guy. 'Specially 'coz Tina's moved on so fast."

"Oh, with Puck?" Santana nodded. "I'm not even sure they're together," Brittany replied. "I kinda think they're pulling a friends-with-benefits thing, because Tina is still freaking out about it."

"That's not going to end well," Santana said quietly.

"Nope," Brittany agreed.

Neither of them mentioned how they both knew it was true.

-

Santana peered into the mirror, holding back her makeup brush and evaluating her appearance. She was getting ready for her date with Sugar at Quinn's house again. Except this time, Rachel was there too, and Rachel and Quinn at Quinn's house was drastically different than just Quinn at Quinn's house.

Mainly, Rachel just yammered a lot, and Quinn appeared to be listening. Or at the very least, not staring into space without any expression whatsoever. She wasn't nodding emphatically at the conversation, nor contributing much to it, but mostly it just looked like she was content to just be sitting there under the barrage of Rachel's endless chattering.

"We're trying to decide on the featured piece for Sectionals, other than the group numbers," Rachel informed Quinn matter-of-factly, as she toyed with a loose thread on the afghan covering them on the couch. The Fabrays, predictably, did not keep it any less than chilly in their house. Sometimes Santana thought Quinn just froze up as a child and never thawed out. It made a lot of sense, actually, even if science didn't really support the theory.

But she was curled up under the blanket now, and seemed to be living like an actual human being of actual human temperature. "So what was the verdict?" she asked calmly, looking back to Santana at the mirror.

"Undecided." Santana zipped up her makeup bag and took a step back, brushing off her jeans.

"Actually," Rachel sniffed self-importantly. "I think it'd be a good idea if Santana and I did a duet together."

Santana paused, index finger held up, and turned to look at them. Quinn's eyebrows were in her hairline, a grin toying at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, I think that's a great idea," she said, clearly trying not to giggle at the idea of Santana and Rachel even attempting to collaborate on a duet.

"Well, I'm the least likely to make out with you on stage." Santana grabbed her bag and her keys, and headed down the Fabrays' foyer to the door. "If you pick a decent song with equal parts, I'll consider it!" she offered over her shoulder, and she shut the door behind her, leaving Rachel and Quinn to whatever boring Friday evening they had planned.

-

The date with Sugar went just as well as the date with Brittany.

Damn right, Santana thought smugly. This is one charming-ass date.

It was eerily similar to her practice date, though. The sunset was the same, the landscape the same, the speech basically the same. Santana had had to doctor it a bit, because Brittany's had been specifically for Brittany. Sugar hadn't been born here, but Santana thought everything still applied. They were both stuck here now.

But Sugar, too, was astonished that they weren't going to Breadstix, and Sugar, too, called Santana's speech beautiful.

The only difference was that Sugar kissed Santana at the end of the date, as they sat on the hood of Santana's car, wrapped snugly in a blanket under the falling night.

And, as she rested her head blissfully against Sugar's shoulder, Santana realized that she'd forgotten to buy her flowers.

-

Kurt wasn't at his locker on Monday morning. Santana waited through the bells, after the hallways cleared out, trying not to let sheer panic take over. Even though the hallways were tamer now, she still didn't like not seeing Kurt walking safely through them. He wasn't in his classroom. Or in Ms. Pillsbury's office. Or in the bathroom, girls or boys. (Santana checked both, and had unintentionally scared the crap out of a freshman at the urinal. Wasn't the first time; probably wouldn't be the last.)

Finally, she walked out to the parking lot, and saw Kurt's car parked in the usual spot. Kurt was sitting in the driver's seat. She shook her head, grabbed the passenger-side handle, and heaved herself into the car.

"What's going on? You weren't at your locker," Santana was trying her best to scold him, but she was pretty sure the fluster of not finding him, anywhere, was leaking through to her voice.

Kurt turned to look at her, and only then did Santana realize he looked awful. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were rimmed red around the edges. He'd obviously been crying. His hair was still perfect, though - it was Kurt, after all.

"Blaine kissed somebody," he croaked, miserably.

"Oh," Santana said dumbly. It was taking a few seconds for the information to sink in. All she could think was to ask a stupid question. "Guy or girl?"

"Does it matter?" Kurt countered. Then, "A guy. He got drunk at a party. I mean, you saw him when he was drunk. And I guess he just really liked this guy. They kissed. Or made out. Or something." His voice broke, and there was a loud thud. His eyes snapped to the source, and all he saw was Santana's hair flip as she threw the door shut behind her.

"Santana, what are you doing?" Kurt launched out of the driver's seat and followed her, wiping tears off his cheeks. She was tearing through the parking lot, muttering Spanish darkly under her breath.

"We are going to go kick his ass, Kurt Hummel."

"Why are you walking? He goes to school in California!" Kurt hiccuped.

Santana whirled around, a steely glint in her eyes. Kurt instinctively backed away. "No one gets to treat you like shit anymore, okay? I don't care if you love the everloving shit out of that guy, no one gets to hurt you!"

"Santana, calm down! They just kissed! I mean, it didn't go anywhere past that, and he felt bad and apologized for it!"

"I don't fucking care! Don't make apologies for him! No one hurts you, Kurt. Punto y final. I'm gonna go fucking kill that guy, and the guy he frenched, you got it? We are going to get in my car, drive the two thousand miles or whatever, and fucking run them over. And then we're stealing their credit cards so they can pay for my gas."

She turned on her heel again, and stormed off, taking a good ten paces before she realized Kurt wasn't following her. She stopped, frowned, and paced back towards him, anger starting to trickle away when she saw his face. Kurt was laughing.

"This isn't funny, Kurt! I'm fucking pissed!"

"Santana, this didn't even happen to you!" Kurt pleaded with her, tears still mixing with his laughter. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, dragging her back towards his car.

Santana scowled, upset that Kurt's hurt dissolved so quickly now that he was so amused by her actions. "Well, it happened to you," she grumbled. "And that's as good as happening to me." She yanked her arm back, forcing Kurt to turn around and look at her.

Their eyes locked together in some sort of mutual, unspoken understanding. Santana slowly felt the fire draining out of hers, and saw a little twinkle light up again in Kurt's. His face fell into an almost pitying smile. "My hero," he said quietly.

"C'mon," Santana grumbled. "Let's get you to class." She moved to walk past him, trying to break the moment. But Kurt caught her arm again, and pulled her into a hug. It took her a few seconds, but once she got over the shock of it, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around Kurt's shoulders.

"Thanks, Santana."

"Don't you hesitate on dumping his ass, okay? Not for one second," Santana warned. "Don't just let him think he can get away with stuff like that. It's not okay."

"I won't, Santana."

They stood that way for a minute longer.

"Can I at least punch him in the face?"

Kurt laughed, and squeezed her tighter.

-

"Mercedes, we have very exciting news for you," Rachel bounced up and down. She'd grabbed Santana's elbow after glee club released, and dragged her along to get Mercedes before she left the classroom.

And then she spent five minutes rearranging the furniture so it was the perfect tableau for this ceremonious occasion. Mercedes shot Santana a quizzical look, but Santana just shrugged. Better to just let Rachel do her thing and wait for it all to be over.

"Now," Rachel stopped bouncing, and smoothed out her skirt importantly. Santana rolled her eyes. "I imagine that when you heard that Santana and I were going to be co-captaining this year, you thought that we would completely take over Sectionals with our own interests in mind."

Mercedes shrugged. "I don't do anything at competitions except wail on the high notes. Didn't really expect this year to be any different."

"Well, actually -" Santana began. Rachel cut her off.

"Actually, Mercedes, we want to give you the solo for Sectionals!" Rachel just steamrollered ride over Santana. She scowled at being interrupted, but both Mercedes and Rachel just ignored her. Rude.

"Are you for serious right now?" Mercedes' face split into a grin.

"Yes!" Rachel squealed. "I know what you're thinking; it's very generous of us. And it is." She nodded sagely, and then started rifling around in her bag. "Santana, did I give you the CD with song suggestions on it?"

"No, I think you have it," Santana replied, yawning.

Rachel frowned. "I must have left it in my locker. Excuse me." She squealed again, hugged Mercedes tightly, and exited.

As soon as she was gone, Santana pulled the CD out of her backpack. "It's still fun to mess with her," she shrugged. Mercedes laughed, and accepted it, looking over the songs. Santana took that as her cue to exit, and made to walk past her. But before she could get to the door, Mercedes cut her off.

"Kurt told me what you did for him."

Santana turned, donning her best poker face. "What, threaten to maim his loved ones? It's nothing I haven't done before." She waved her hand nonchalantly.

"You know what I mean," Mercedes said quietly. "I appreciate it, Santana. I haven't been hanging out with Kurt as much this year, because of Sam and everything, but… he's still my number one guy. Thanks for looking out for him."

Santana brushed off the the gratitude. It felt weird, coming from Mercedes. Weezy didn't owe her anything. They were the two fiercest bitches in this place.

"There are some good songs on there," she said, gesturing the CD. "Don't screw 'em up." But she smirked at Mercedes before she left, and Mercedes simply just chuckled at her and promised to do her best. Santana knew it'd be enough to win.

-

"Puck and I are doing the halftime show for the football Championships this year," Tina told Santana as she turned on the water for Santana to rinse out their glassware.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, he convinced Coach Beiste to let us do it. At first he wanted to sing a song to me, but I told him hell no. We're not even dating," she added, scrunching up her nose.

Santana hid her smirk. "Of course not."

"So we're singing together. And hopefully no one will break any of my bones in the first half, or else it'll just be Puck singing half the songs, without any harmony."

"I think he'd probably be in the back of the ambulance with you, actually," Santana replied, matter-of-factly.

Tina let slip a little smile, before correcting her expression and returning their beakers to the drying rack. Santana shook her head. Denial was not a cute color on her.

-

"So, our fourth date," Sugar purred. She leaned up against the locker next to Santana's, as Santana was rifling around for her books. Kurt was still standing on her other side, waiting to walk to class together, and his eyes widened at Sugar's tone.

"Oh my, look at the time," he tapped his watch-less wrist and wandered away towards Mercedes' locker. Santana watched him leave, out of habit, and Kurt yelled "I'm fine, Santana!" at her without turning around.

Santana returned her attention to Sugar, grumbling a little.

"Fourth date?" she slammed her locker shut and began walking, bumping elbows with Sugar as they made their way down the hall.

"You free Friday?"

"Yeah, yeah. What do you want to do?"

"Wanna do putt-putt?"

Santana stopped, and turned to face Sugar, who skidded to a halt. "Do I want to what… what?"

"Putt-putt," Sugar repeated, calmly. "As in, golf."

Santana let out a harsh laugh. "Golf? Are you serious? Would you like me to wear my plaid shirt or my softball uniform? Can we listen to my Ani DiFranco cassette on the way there? Or should I just move in with you this weekend? I can stop shaving, trade my car in for a Subaru, and maybe adopt a bunch of cats for us, if you want. Or dogs, whatever. They can be like our kids. Sure, let's do putt-putt. Let's golf; yeah." She shrugged. Apparently her bitchiness had transitioned into sarcastic passive aggression.

Sugar just looked at her, completely and aggravatingly even-tempered, but Santana could tell she was annoyed. She folded her arms across her chest, at any rate, which was very un-Sugar-like. "Are you done?"

Santana scowled, threateningly. "Not nearly."

"Look, Santana. This is me asking you on a fourth date at a miniature golf course because this is a bumfuck town that has nothing else in it, and I, unlike you, can't eat at Breadstix for every meal. Now. Let me tell you what this is not. This is not an invitation for fulfilling a lifetime of lesbian stereotypes, and it is also not an invitation for you to be a complete bitch to me. Are we clear?"

Santana gobbed her mouth shut at the volley back, avoiding eye contact. Sugar was staring her down like a lion tamer, and she was stuck between squirming, backing down, and starting a bitch fight in the hallway. "Whatever. I have to get to class."

And she walked away.

-

"Santana, you have to go," Brittany told her over the phone later.

"Do I though? I'm pretty sure I could fake my own death or something."

"Do you hear yourself right now?"

Santana groaned and draped an arm over her eyes, trying to block out the afternoon sunlight coming through her window. "I don't want to go putt-putt golfing."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"You know, if you weren't so afraid of the stereotypes, it'd probably be easier to not be afraid of who you are."

"I'm not afraid of who I am," Santana bit back.

"Good. Then you'll go putt-putt golfing with me on Thursday and figure out how to get you through this date." It was not a threat, or a jab; merely a statement of fact.

And then Brittany hung up, leaving Santana with very little choice.

-

"Santana, why are you even here right now? Your date with Sugar isn't until Friday," Rachel frowned, from her spot on the couch.

"Berry, why are you even here right now? This isn't even your house," Santana shot back, trying as gently as possible to stick her eyelashes on even though she was kind of irritable and rather liked slamming things right now.

"Yeah, yours neither," Quinn returned. "Tell me, have you been enjoying my makeup, Santana?"

Rachel giggled. Santana turned around to glare at them through one stick-on eyelash. "I have my practice date with Brittany tonight."

"Ah," Quinn nodded sagely. "The one at the golf course?"

"Shut up." Santana examined the second set of eyelashes.

"But it's the practice date tonight, isn't it Santana?" Rachel picked up where Quinn left off. "Just with Brittany?"

"Yes, geez. Are you fucking writing a book or something?"

"No, just curious."

If Santana hadn't been leaning into the mirror applying her lashes, she would've seen Quinn and Rachel share a Look.

-

"Wow, you look hot for a golf course."

"Can we just… get this over with? I'm going putt-putt golfing two different days this week."

"Fine; we don't have to go, Santana. Dirty Dancing is on, and I have popcorn…"

"No," Santana barked immediately. "We're doing this." And she grabbed Brittany's hand, and led them to her car.

"Okay, but this is a very important dating lesson," Brittany turned the radio down as soon as they got in. "Even if you hate what the other person loves, you can't just shut down and act like a baby about it."

As if Santana couldn't feel more like shit. "Well, what do you suggest, Britt? How am I going to even remotely have fun at a golf course?"

"Well, if you just maybe open your mind for, like, two seconds, you'll just let go and have fun." Brittany shrugged. "Seems like something you should try."

Santana closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started the car.

Turns out golfing wasn't so bad, with Brittany along. Except Brittany was maddeningly good at it, and Santana kept hitting the ball into the miniature lakes. Y'know, miniature lakes for miniature golf.

"What the fuck?!" Santana roared after the sixth hole in a row that Brittany made par and Santana found herself fishing for her wayward ball in the drink. Brittany waved genially to the family on the course behind them. The parents were scowling in their direction.

"San, just calm down," Brittany took Santana by the elbow and steered her along the path. "You're taking this too seriously."

Santana grumbled, dragging her club behind her and letting it scrape against the pavement.

"Let's concentrate on something else, okay?"

Santana grumbled again.

"How's Sectionals planning going?"

Santana took a deep breath. "We're planning out a rehearsal schedule for the group number right now. And picking out songs. Rachel and I are going to duet, I think, and we gave Weezy the solo. As like, a compromise."

"Wow. Was that her idea, or yours?"

"Well, we agreed on it. We've both had solos at competition, and like, Mercedes hasn't. And she's a better singer than both of us."

Brittany gave her a Look. Santana snorted. "But not as good as you," she corrected.

Brittany smiled, mollified. And Santana felt much better after that.

-

In the end, Santana had stopped bitching by the ninth hole, and just relaxed for the last nine. Brittany had insisted on playing an arcade game before they left, though, and managed to outsmart the impossible claw machine to win an enormous stuffed hedgehog.

"That thing is ridiculous," Santana said, as Brittany held it on her lap the entire way home. "How are you supposed to cuddle it? It's got pointy things all over it."

Brittany giggled. "Yeah, but they're not sharp. He's still soft." She snuggled her head in the hedgehog's belly.

"Also, technically, since I am your date - doesn't that mean you should give him to me? As like, a prize, or something?"

Brittany frowned. "No. I'm keeping him."

"Oh. Well, good. I didn't want him anyway."

"I do. He reminds me of you."

Santana made a face. But she still reached out, peeled Brittany's hand off the hedgehog, and held it over the center console for the rest of the way home.

-

Santana took a deep breath to compose herself, and rang Sugar's doorbell. She heard the footsteps coming, and immediately tugged at her shirt out of nerves.

The door flew open, and Sugar's smile immediately disappeared, replaced with something like shock.

"You're wearing plaid."

Santana sighed. "Brittany thought it would be a good way to say I'm sorry."

Sugar stifled a giggle, mouth dropped open in awe. "You're wearing plaid."

"Well, I'm sorry. So I wore plaid. Turns out golfing isn't that bad - although, it's not very good either. I just promise not to be a baby about it and ruin your night."

Sugar reached out with one hand and grabbed Santana by the shirt, looping her fingers in the gap between the buttons over Santana's stomach. She pulled her forward gently, and placed a soft kiss on Santana's lips.

"Thanks, Santana."

"Hey hey hey, watch the hands. I don't want you ruining my brand new shirt." She wrapped her fingers around Sugar's and pried her hand away. And then she held it the rest of the way to the car, and over the console as they drove.

-

Sugar laughed every time Santana's ball flew sideways and landed with a soft kerplop! into the water. Santana muttered Spanish swear words under her breath every time, too.

But also, every time, Sugar grabbed Santana by the hand that wasn't swinging the golf club in frustration, and pulled her back to kiss her before she had to go retrieve her ball.

It was a good date.

-

"Blaine's coming home for Thanksgiving," Kurt sighed to Santana as they made their way through McKinley's front doors and into the hallway.

"Oh yeah? I can pick him up at the airport if you want. I'll be the one with a sign that says 'Blaine' and also a crossbow."

"Why would you kill him with a crossbow, Santana? You seem more like a battle axe type. Or something devious, like arsenic in his coffee."

"Well, if he tries to run, I have a long-range offensive." Santana shrugged, as if this were the most obvious answer.

"The amount of thought you've put into this is beginning to scare me."

They got to Kurt's locker. Santana turned to face him. "Have you forgiven him?"

Kurt sighed. "I haven't decided. I guess that's what this weekend's for."

"Well... just keep in mind what I said."

"Yes, Santana; I'll have my crossbow on standby."

-

"Hold still, Santana." Brittany grabbed at Santana's squirming feet, holding the nail polish brush over them.

"I can't; it tickles," Santana grumped. She looked at Lord Tubbington, and swore he was mocking her.

"Think of something else."

Santana focused her mind on other things. Rachel and the plan for Sectionals. Quinn and Rachel hanging out all the time now. Tina and Puck trying to not actually date each other and failing miserably. Kurt having to decide about Blaine. Making out with Sugar after their last date at mini-golf.

Yeah, that last one was good.

"Alright, you're done." Brittany put the lid back on the nail polish, and set it on the nightstand. She settled in next to Lord Tubbington, absentmindedly running her hand over his fur.

"San, I've been thinking."

"Hmm?" Santana was concentrating on not smearing the still-wet polish.

"You've been on four official dates with Sugar, now, and… I think you've learned everything I could teach you."

Santana froze. She had really tried to pretend this day weren't coming.

But she knew it would.

She sucked in a breath and held it.

"I don't think we need to go on any practice dates anymore."

There was no way Santana could legitimize arguing around it. She and Sugar had been dating for over a month, and they were perfectly fine. Santana had survived the first awkward dates, then planned a really good one of her own, and even overcame a shitty date plan simply through compromise, something Santana had been notoriously bad at.

There really was nothing left.

"Yeah. I think so too." She let out the breath she'd been holding, and stared unblinkingly at her toes so she didn't have to look at Brittany.

Santana had never really been broken up with before, but part of her wondered if this was exactly what it felt like.

-

"I convinced her to do a medley with me," Puck said eagerly, as Santana held her dropper over the beaker and squeezed three times. "Still working on the convincing-her-to-date-me thing. We're just kind of… hooking up. Which isn't, like, bad, just… frustrating, I guess. That she doesn't think I want more than that."

"Uh-huh," Santana replied absently. She was still pretty glum about knowing she and Britt didn't have a built-in excuse to hang out anymore, and didn't really want to hear about Puck's sex life on any day of the week.

"Anyways, I don't think anyone will throw shoes at us or anything because we're both on the team, and we're doing country. Everyone in this hick town loves country, right?"

"For some reason," Santana sighed.

Puck frowned, noticing that Santana didn't even attempt to bite back. "Hey, you okay? Did you fight with Sugar or something? Coz you totally shouldn't worry about it. I hear lesbian make-up sex is way better than the hetero kind. For some reason," Puck teased, nudging Santana with his shoulder.

"No, Sugar and I are fine."

She didn't particularly feel like telling him that she didn't think she and Brittany were.

-

"Hey," Santana picked up as soon as she saw Sugar's name on the caller ID.

"Bad news." Well, this wasn't a good way to start any conversation.

"What's up?" Santana did her best to rearrange her voice into concern.

"My grandma's dying," Sugar said quietly.

"Oh. Holy shit." Santana was certifiably not good at things like this. "Um. I'm really sorry." Darling? Sweetie? Baby? Honeypie?

Ugh.

"Yeah, so I can't make our date tonight."

"Oh! Jesus," Santana paused. Boo? Muffin? Lover? Why the fuck was this girl's name already a term of endearment? "Don't even worry about that, are you kidding? Do what you have to do."

"Thanks," Sugar sighed.

"Are… you okay?" Santana ventured tentatively.

"I think so. This just… really sucks."

"Yeah," Santana echoed glumly. "Let me know if you need anything? I can like, buy groceries or…" What else did people need at a time like this? "…do your homework for you?"

Sugar laughed lightly. "That's sweet; thanks. I'll let you know."

And they hung up.

Santana sat around for a little while longer, not really sure what to do with her evening now. She felt like shit about Sugar's grandmother; it was always miserable when somebody kicked off. Like nothing made sense. Just… a real shitty feeling, which she completely indulged in as she stared up at the texture of her ceiling.

Then, after about twenty minutes or so, she reached for her phone again, and dialed the only number she knew by heart.

-

Brittany was ready within five minutes, and she just wordlessly got in Santana's car, and sat silently while they drove. Santana had told her about Sugar's grandma over the phone, but honestly Brittany sounded distant and quiet even before Santana had shared the news. So they just held hands, next to the gearshift, as they drove.

In the end, they found themselves back out by the old B&O railroad tracks, curled up under about six blankets, a light dusting of snow coming down around them. It looked different than when Santana was here a few weeks ago - the sky was grey, now, and everything looked miserably bleak.

She couldn't feel her toes this time, either.

But Brittany's heartbeat slowly made its way between the two of them, and it became the steady rhythm Santana breathed to.

"You really think we'll get out of this place?" Brittany asked quietly, leaning her face a little so her cheek touched the side of Santana's head.

"You mean life?" Santana said darkly.

Brittany poked at her ribs. "You know what I mean."

Santana sighed. "Yeah, I think so. I always figured we would. You and I, I mean."

"Because we love each other?"

"Yeah."

"And because of that, anything's possible?" Brittany's voice was small, and it cracked a little bit as she repeated the words she'd said to Santana with such confidence at the end of last school year. When everything was much more simple than it was now, and yet still complicated even then. They were going to have a fresh start, then. They'd tried to have a fresh start.

But maybe they were fools for thinking they could ever have one, and right now Brittany sounded very far away. Like a worried little kid.

Which was about exactly how Santana felt.

Blindly, she reached for Brittany's hand underneath the warm blankets, and linked their pinkies together.

"Yeah."

-

After about an hour of sitting out in the bitter cold, they both climbed back in Santana's car, and drove back into town, darkness falling fast.

"You've gotten really good at dating," Brittany said, trying to act casual, but Santana could hear it in her voice - that same tiny, tiny voice. She'd been silently crying ever since they'd been at the railroad tracks. And now they stood on her front porch, not sure what to do next.

"B," Santana pleaded, taking a step forward.

But there was really only one thing to do next.

And before Santana knew it - or during, or after - Brittany's hands were tangled in her hair, and her lips were on hers.

And suddenly, the warmth spread entirely throughout her body. To her fingertips, and to her toes, and right to the very center, where it restarted Santana's heart and shot up to her face and her brain and her lips. She clutched desperately at Brittany's face, her fingerless gloves flush against her jawline.

Brittany's other hand quickly found its way under Santana's coat, and worked upwards.

Instantly, they pulled apart, and Brittany immediately fumbled for her keys, letting them inside. They waved a quick hello to Brittany's parents, and as soon as they were back in Brittany's bedroom, they stared at each other from across the room.

And then, in a mutually unspoken decision, both of them made three long paces to meet each other in the middle of it.

This was something that Santana hadn't felt in eight months, after having had it for almost every day of her teenage existence. She felt like she was going to rip apart at the seams. Brittany delved into her mouth and their tongues slid against one another, and Santana didn't really know where she ended and Brittany began.

That's how it was.

That's how it had been.

That's how it should be.

But before Santana could process any of these thoughts, Brittany had her sweater off, and was deftly working on the clasp to Santana's bra. Santana furiously grabbed for the waistband on Brittany's tights and started yanking.

This was everything, all at once, and Santana was drowning in it. It felt like happiness and sadness and regret and longing and everything good and everything bad that Santana had ever done in her life and she couldn't stop anything. She was on a runaway train, a one-way ticket away from normalcy, spiraling quickly into recklessness.

Brittany walked Santana back to her bed, but before her knees hit the mattress, Santana turned them around, keeping her hand on Brittany's back as they laid down together. Then, she felt her hands go everywhere, completely unable to stop them. They were in Brittany's hair, on her face, down her neck, and down to her fingertips, where their fingers laced together instinctively. Then it was back up her arms, and down her chest, pausing momentarily to trace the outline of Brittany's breasts, and flat against her stomach down to her hips.

Suddenly, Brittany's hand shot out, and grabbed Santana's, which was toying with the waistband of her underwear.

"Santana, Santana, Santana," Brittany let out breathlessly.

"Mmm," Santana replied, working her lips along Brittany's neck, the fluttering pulse.

"This is cheating."

Santana stopped moving, hand frozen in place, still held by Brittany's.

"We're cheating right now."

Brittany sat up from underneath her, and started crying again.

"And the plumbing's not different this time."

Fuck.

-

Santana had run out of Brittany's house as fast as her legs could carry her, gathering as many articles of clothing along the way. Brittany had tried to run after her, but Santana kept pushing her away, and eventually she just let her go.

As soon as Santana got home, she locked herself in the room. All she could hear, over and over again, was Brittany's voice from the end of the summer: "I don't want to get hurt by you."

I don't want to get hurt by you.

I don't want to lose you.

I don't want to get hurt by you.

In one fell swoop, Santana was pretty sure she'd done both.

The thought slammed into her head with sickening impact, and then she was back in her car, and tearing through the streets back to Brittany's house. This time her parents let her in, and she found Brittany sitting on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, still not wearing any pants.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm sorry I hurt you when I said I wouldn't. I'm sorry I dated you when I said I wouldn't. I'm sorry I kissed you when I said I wouldn't. I'm sorry I broke all those promises." It felt like she was falling apart, crumbling and dropping into tiny pieces all over Brittany's floor.

So she crawled onto Brittany's bed, and Brittany reached out. She pulled their bodies together and held Santana tightly, and it felt like maybe she wouldn't disintegrate completely, as long as Brittany was holding the pieces of her together.

"You were right; I fucked up my first time," Santana said roughly, bitterly. Tearfully.

"A little bit," Brittany replied sincerely, resting her cheek on the top of Santana's head and hiccuping back a short breath.

"Why can't I get this right?"

"You're just always late, San. I'm always early; you're always late. It's how we are."

"I don't want to be late anymore. When you're late you miss things."

It was child's logic, mumbled into Brittany's shirtsleeve, but there were still so many truths in that one statement.

Brittany just held her, wordlessly, and stroked her hair. But after a moment, she said one single thing that wrecked Santana completely.

"You've been so brave this year," she murmured, fingers in Santana's hair, lightly touching against her scalp.

It was too much. It was finally what Santana had wanted someone to acknowledge. And for it to be Brittany, the biggest champion of Santana's bravery, and the biggest casualty of it… well. Santana sobbed unapologetically into her shoulders at the irony. "I did it for you."

"No, sweetie." Santana could tell that Brittany was trying to be strong for the both of them, but by the sound of her voice, she was crying just as much as she was. "You did it for you. You should remember that. Please don't not think that."

That just made Santana cry harder, and Brittany hold her tighter. It felt more like home than anything she'd felt in a long time, except it felt all fractured and raw, and everything came tumbling out in tears through the fissures. Being brave enough to come out at her birthday party; being brave enough to date Sugar publicly. Trying to be a leader in the glee club and not kill Rachel Berry, or let the team down. Deluding herself into thinking she could date Sugar and have a relationship with Brittany too. Protecting Kurt. Worrying about Mike. Looking after Quinn. Trying to keep her spot on the Cheerios... when really, she just wanted to quit everything and run away.

Hop on that fucking railroad and pass right on through.

With Brittany.

Not Sugar.

They didn't say anything for awhile. Brittany just held Santana, and let her cry out all her tears on her shirt.

And then Santana got up, when the wet patch on Brittany's sleeve was finally dry, and she left. Brittany watched her go.

It was the quiet death rattle of their relationship.

-

Thanksgiving sucked, as it did every year. Santana's family - well, her dad and her - were Hispanic, so they didn't really do anything; and this year, like every year, her dad was at work. (Plus, at Golden Bridge Academy, her teachers always assigned her to be an Indian in the Thanksgiving celebration, just because she wasn't white enough to be a Pilgrim, and it annoyed the hell out of Santana that she had to dress up in a paper bag every year, like a fucking stereotype. So she kind of hated Thanksgiving ever since.)

She watched the parade on TV, though, volume blasting, and she scowled at all those fuckers looking happy and thankful, surrounded by friends and family.

And Santana was thankful for absolutely nothing this year. She'd managed to fuck up the best relationship in her life, for the second time, while simultaneously fucking up the relationship she was trying to move on with.

No, there was no thanking anyone in this scenario. Except maybe her own goddamn self.

-

The day after Thanksgiving, Kurt invited himself over, unannounced. It took him pounding on the door for three minutes straight before Santana let him in.

"Judging by how eerily reminiscent this scene is to our chat earlier this year, I'm gathering you've done a little regressing," he sniffed, unfurling his scarf and shaking snow off his coat.

"Did you forgive Blaine?" Santana asked sharply, staring at the television.

Kurt paused, taken aback. Finally he moved to sit next to Santana. He still left a good two feet between them, though.

"…yes." He took a breath. "We're… trying again."

"So you believe in second chances?"

If this were any other day where Santana didn't absolutely look like hell run over by an eighteen-wheeler, Kurt would've probably asked what was prompting this. But instead, he simply replied. "Sometimes."

"Even for cheaters?"

"People make mistakes, Santana."

"Yeah." She knew from experience. She was 'people.'

What she didn't know was who she wanted a second chance from, or if she thought she deserved either of them, or even if she had any left from Brittany.

-

"Oh god, I think I'm gonna puke," Tina moaned, her helmet under her arm, hair in the usual gameday pigtail braids.

"How do you still get nervous? You've proved yourself pretty much every game you've played." Santana picked a piece of grass out of Tina's hair, which somehow managed to get there even though they hadn't started playing yet. She'd wandered away from the other cheerleaders, mainly because Brittany was there, and she couldn't be around her when she didn't need to be. It felt a little bit like suffocating.

Sugar wasn't there, either. The exclamation point was now gone from Tina's signs in the stands, and it hurt to look at that, too. She hadn't talked to Sugar since her grandmother had taken a turn for the worse, but she didn't feel good about their pending conversations either.

Mostly, Santana wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But she had a football team to cheer for, and apparently that took precedence or something.

Puck walked up, and held out a cup of Gatorade to Tina.

"What, none for me?" Santana bitched at him. Seeing him fawn over Tina was nauseating.

"Easy, tiger. You need those electrolytes for cheerleading?"

"Fuck you."

Puck put his hands up in surrender, and left them alone. Tina took a sip of the Gatorade, and watched him go. "I think we're dating, kind of."

"No shit," Santana snarled, tearing her eyes away from the Cheerio squad across the field, where Brittany was stretching.

Tina followed her gaze. "Everything okay?"

Santana sighed darkly. "I don't want to talk about it."

Tina handed her the cup of Gatorade and let her finish the rest. "Chin up, Santana. I need someone to cheer for me." She smiled at her, almost flirtatiously.

Santana surrendered to the charm. "You're going to be great. You're not even gonna need me." She reached out and yanked gently on one of Tina's braids.

"Still." Tina grinned bigger, and kissed Santana's cheek swiftly before putting her helmet on and jogging over towards Puck.

Santana swigged the last of Tina's Gatorade and looked across the field. She had no choice now but to rejoin the gaggle of cheerleaders and take her place for the start of the game.

-

At halftime, with the Titans down by three, the stands settled in with hot dogs and sodas as Figgins stepped up to the mic at the fifty yard line. The jazz band was set up behind him - a drum kit, bass guitar, and slap bass.

"Hello, McKinley High, as well as our opponents, Cleveland Heights High," he droned. "We are all very excited to be participating in this state football championship. For our halftime entertainment tonight, we have a performance from two of our very own players, who, between the two of them, have set a record for their combined total of rushing yards this season, with 6,031."

He looked around, waiting blankly for the smattering of applause to end.

"Please welcome Noah Puckerman and Tina Cohen-Chang, doing a medley of Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash."

Puck and Tina took the field, both still in their uniforms and pads. They grinned wide and waved up to the crowd.

Without any preamble, Puck turned to Tina, and start strumming his guitar, starting out slow and steady. He started the first verse, giving Tina a little hip check. She sang back to him the response, a flirtatious echo, and bumped him right back. Then, the harmony.

This was no zombie attack like last year, but it was damn charming, and the crowd immediately engaged with them. Puck had been right; small town Ohio loved country.

"And love's just a bubble if you don't take the trouble to make it!" he sang goofily, with a growl. He leaned down, right into Tina's face, and she laughed, reaching out to scruff up his mohawk.

The song finished, and the band kicked it up into a fast rockabilly tempo. They transitioned seamlessly into their parts, Tina swishing back and forth with an imaginary skirt, and Puck grinning at her out the corner of his eye.

Santana couldn't help but smile. Tina Cohen-Chang was singing country music. She didn't sound bad, either. Sure, she didn't really have the twang or anything, but hers and Puck's voices melded together in an unsettlingly compatible harmony.

Plus, the fact that they were singing "It Ain't Me, Babe" was more than a little relevant to their dating situation, those charming fuckers.

Puck nodded at Tina, as a cue, and the song switched again. They spread out across the field as they sang, working the crowd. Everybody was already on their feet, and clapping.

They made their way along the length of the field, Puck pointing the fret end of his guitar into the crowd and pretending to "fire" flirtatiously at all the girls, and Tina helping keep the beat by clapping with them. They worked their way through the sidelined Cheerios, and both of them slapped Santana on the ass as they passed by. She jolted in shock. Oh, she was going to give them hell for that later.

"Yeah, we're going to Jackson… ain't never coming back!" They finished the verses, finally back at the center of the field, and let the beat drive home the rest of the song. When it was over, Puck slung the guitar over his shoulder pads, and bowed to the cheering stands. Then he gestured at Tina, getting them to cheer louder for her as she bowed, too.

"Thanks, everybody!" Tina waved.

"Yeah, keep this up for the second half, and we'll see what numbers we can put up!" Then Puck slapped Tina's helmet playfully, gave her a discreet low-five, and they headed off the field together.

Santana looked over at Brittany. She was smiling, maybe not as widely as she usually did, but smiling at the performance nonetheless. Santana thought maybe she felt her eyes watching her, even though Santana couldn't dare look at her. But Brittany's eyes were trained on the field.

In the end, Puck scored another touchdown and Tina another two - with Puck's blocking assistance - and the Titans nosed ahead for the win.

Finn and Mike picked up the Gatorade cooler, and dumped the contents over Coach Beiste's head as her players celebrated around her.

Santana caught sight of Puck and Tina. They'd ripped off their helmets, and Tina had her legs around Puck's waist and her hands on his face and they kissed with a fevered abandon.

Santana sighed. Guess this counted as their happy ending.

Probably the only time two football players were going to make out on the McKinley High football field, too. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sectionals was the week after the football championships, and Rachel allowed Puck, Tina, and the other football players approximately 24 hours of celebration and rest before they started rehearsals every day. Everyone looked at Santana pleadingly to help them get more time, but she just shrugged. "I'm with Rachel. Football season is over. It's time for glee season."

Rachel had smiled at her gratefully, and Santana returned it simply by pressing her lips together in a line. She did agree with Rachel, but she also didn't want to get stuck playing good cop/bad cop, and furthermore, she didn't really have the energy to fight for anything these days. Which was true all around. She didn't see Brittany except during the few classes they had together, and even then she couldn't look directly at her out of guilt.

Plus, Rachel was yapping at her and distracting her, anyways. As co-captain, she had responsibilities. Which Rachel reminded her of, constantly.

In the end, they'd decided on Mercedes starting with Leona Lewis' song "Happy." The rest of the club would join her in backup about two-thirds of the way through. Then, Rachel and Santana would sit down and do a quiet rendition of an Adele song with Tina on the piano, and finally everyone would come back together for the group number - The Promise by When in Rome, with Finn, Sam, Brittany, and Tina sharing the leads.

Then they'd told Kurt, Quinn, Artie, and Puck that they'd get a lead at Regionals or Nationals. Quinn didn't particularly care - even though Rachel cared more than enough for her - and Artie and Puck just high-fived and let it go.

Kurt, however, lifted an eyebrow dubiously. "You better," he sniffed. Then he looked at Santana. "A duet, perhaps?"

"Ha. If I can tear you away from Rachel. I think you're her preferred duet partner, now that she doesn't sing with Bigfoot anymore."

Kurt beamed with pride. "It's because we're unparalleled in talent." He tapped his nose knowingly.

"It's true," Rachel agreed, bobbing her head up and down and linking her arms with Kurt.

"Oh god, there's nothing for me to barf in."

But Rachel still kept her promise to duet with Santana, no matter how many random duets she sang with Kurt in class. And Sectionals found them standing together behind the curtain, as Mercedes took the stage and sang the opening notes of "Happy."

"You ready?" Rachel slipped her hand into Santana's and tugged it.

"What? Oh. Yeah," Santana emerged from her reverie. Even though Mercedes was singing the song, the lyrics were awfully damn pertinent to her own life.

"You've been an excellent co-captain," Rachel got on her toes and whispered conspiratorially in Santana's ear. "Way better than Finn."

"Well, duh."

And then the notes opened up huge, and the whole club came out behind Mercedes, the guys in their grey dress shirts, yellow ties, and dark pants, and the girls in solid black dresses. Both she and Rachel wore headbands, which Rachel convinced her was a symbol of their solidarity as co-captains. Honestly though, Santana's headband was kind of pinching her.

But she couldn't worry about that now. She was trying not to drown in the lyrics to this stupid damn song, and before she knew it Mercedes finished all the runs, and the crowd was cheering. Rachel grabbed her by the hand and led her to two stools, centerstage, under spotlights. Tina took her place at the piano.

The lights dimmed, and the first piano notes sounded through the auditorium. Rachel squeezed Santana's hand.

"When the rain is blowing in your face," she sang. "And the whole world is on your case. I can offer you a warm embrace… to make you feel my love."

It was Santana's turn. She took a deep breath. "When the evening's shadows and the stars appear, and there is no one there to dry your tears… I could hold you for a million years… to make you feel my love."

They both came together in harmony on the chorus, and Santana could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She knew it was ridiculous. She was singing this song with Rachel Berry of all people, but she still couldn't help but think that… well.

This song was a lot of things she'd always wished she'd said, but never did, even though she'd had so many chances to.

And it fucking hurt. A lot.

It was probably helping her performance, honestly. Or at least that's what Rachel would tell her afterwards, anyways. Or maybe she'd scold her for being unprofessional and wavering on some of the notes.

But Santana didn't think that would be the case, though. She looked at Rachel, who was looking at her - wearing one of those hideously overemotional performance faces.

And when Santana got to the line, "I could make you happy, make your dreams come true," tears sprang into Rachel's eyes as well, and Santana realized that Rachel probably didn't get many people telling her that except herself. So she just squeezed Rachel's hand back, and truthfully, at that point, she didn't know exactly who she was trying to comfort - Rachel or herself.

When it was all said and done, the club stood huddled together, waiting expectantly for the results to be announced. Santana didn't really know where to stand; she didn't think she could stand by Brittany like she always had. They'd spoken for a moment after the performances, just enough for Brittany to tell Santana she sounded beautiful and that she was so proud of her.

Just enough for Santana to feel like her heart was trying to come out of her throat.

But Rachel grabbed her hand again, and yanked her to the front. "We're co-captains!" she hissed. And then the nerves kicked in. Santana's leadership was laid out on the line with this one - she and Rachel had put everything into this last chance at Sectionals, so that they could have a last chance at Regionals, and a last chance at Nationals…

She gripped Rachel's hand tighter.

And when they called New Directions for the victory, Santana felt all her nerves release, and such happiness and relief briefly washed over her that she picked Rachel up in celebration, and impulsively kissed her on the cheek.

Whatever. Latinas did that sort of thing.

When she set her down, Rachel's face was twisted into a teasing grin. "I thought you said you weren't going to kiss me onstage."

Santana just rolled her eyes, and playfully pushed Rachel's face away from her. But Rachel still turned back and gave her a genuine hug, reaching up around her shoulders and squeezing tightly. Then Puck bounced along and enveloped them in a hug, and Quinn came up and wordlessly wrapped Rachel up from behind, and before Santana knew it, she was at the center of a very gooey glee club group hug. And she couldn't help but feel very happy, and loved, and safe for just the briefest of moments.

-

"So you won?" Sugar was managing to work a little enthusiasm into her voice, even though she'd been quiet through most of their phone conversation.

"Yeah. First place, trophy and everything. Now it's Regionals," Santana replied.

"That's amazing."

"How's your grandma?"

"She, um. She died last night."

Oh, fuck.

"I have to tell you something."

And with a slight gulp, Santana told her what had happened between her and Britt.

Sugar took the news surprisingly well, considering it came on the heels of her grandmother's death. Although, somehow that actually seemed to make it a little less painful.

"Look, Santana, I'm exhausted. Physically and emotionally. And you told me you were a… warm body type of girl, so it's not like I wasn't aware of the possibility," Sugar sighed.

"Yeah, but. Aren't you mad?"

"Yes. But I'm too tired to show it. I just lost my grandma. You kissing Brittany is a really minor event to me right now."

Well, there was one thing Santana couldn't wrap her head around. Her kissing Brittany was the only thing Santana could think about right now. It was that, wrapped up in a big ball of guilt, with a side of self-loathing. It was the biggest thing that'd happened to her since… well, since the last time she kissed Brittany.

Y'know, coz it'd been the last time. And she didn't even know it then.

"You know I'm sorry, right?"

"Yes. You're not a bad person, Santana. I know you wouldn't try to hurt me on purpose, much as you try and make people think that."

Santana very much wanted to say "fuck you," for knowing her so well, but really, she had no leg to stand on in this conversation. She was telling a girl whose grandma just died that she'd cheated on her with the love of her life that she also used to repeatedly cheat on.

She sighed, and picked at a loose button on her shirt. The plaid one. The apology shirt.

"What can I do to make it right?"

"Who with?" Sugar replied calmly, and Santana knew, once and for all, that Sugar had her number, and had had it from the day they first met.

-

Rachel was Santana's partner in chemistry the last week of school before break, and she greeted Santana with a grin and a happy hello. Winning did wonders for Rachel's mood.

"What's up, Rach," Santana sighed, dropping into her chair and fumbling with the plastic apron Rachel had laid out before her.

Rachel responded normally, but eyed Santana, and when their exam was over and the bell rang, she dragged her by the arm and into an empty classroom.

"I'm worried about you, Santana. Quinn says you haven't been by to see her in almost three weeks, and Kurt seems to think you're depressed but is reluctant to try and snap you out of it."

"I think I fucked up with Sugar," Santana shrugged.

"Oh, Santana, if you think you… 'fucked up,'" Rachel used air quotes and dropped her voice to a whisper. Santana rolled her eyes at the propriety. "...with Sugar, then you probably did, without any real measure of doubt."

"Hey, watch it," Santana replied, but she didn't really have any bite left. It'd be wasted on Rachel, anyways. She'd worm something of out Santana eventually, with sheer determination and annoyingness.

"What happened?" Rachel said quietly. She sat down, clearly trying to communicate to Santana that she had all day. Santana just leaned back against the wall, and stared at her shoes.

"I made out with Brittany. Well," Santana thought twice. "Rounded second with Brittany, technically. Kinda started heading for home. With Brittany."

Rachel chewed her lip, and nodded seriously. "Well, that's bound to happen, Santana. I mean, look at how many times I've run back to Finn."

"Oh, please do not compare me and Britt to you and Finn Hudson, oh god," Santana shook her head, trying to get every mental image out of her head.

"Well, I did try and relapse into duetting with him earlier this year, and you were the one to stop me, Santana," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "It was very good advice. Do you remember what it was?"

"No," Santana lied.

"You told me that hardly anyone finished high school how it started out. I began it with a hopeless crush on Finn, and now I'm ending it with a firm grip on my musical endeavors, happy and fulfilling friendships with my erstwhile enemies, including you, and Quinn, and Kurt, and Mercedes. You began it with a slightly confusing and undefined relationship with Brittany, as a closeted lesbian, and you're ending it with a happy and out relationship with Sugar. It's good this way."

Santana squeezed her eyes shut at the sheer amount of logic - her own logic - that was being poured back at her with the precision of a robot whose sole purpose was rote memorization.

"Are you telling me to forget it happened, and get back with Sugar?"

"Things change, Santana," Rachel replied simply, with a shrug.

"Some things change," Santana corrected her, quietly. "And some things don't."

-

The next day, Santana avoided Sugar's locker for the umpteenth time - which was annoying because that meant she had to carry her own locker's contents everywhere she went - and decided to go by Quinn's house, since apparently Quinn had noticed her absence. When she got there, she simply let herself in. It was never locked these days, because Rachel came and went as she pleased and y'know, it was always just like Rachel Berry to barge in rooms without knocking. Except apparently Quinn seemed to like being barged in on lately. Which... was just weird.

The lights were on, which of course was the norm these days, but instead of sitting calmly on the couch, Quinn was pacing furiously across the living room. It smelled faintly like chocolate. But Santana didn't really have time to ponder that because as soon as Quinn saw her, she froze.

"I kissed her. A little bit." The words spilled from Quinn's mouth as if she had broken a lamp or something while Santana was gone.

"Rachel? And what do you mean a little bit? You either slobbered all over her face or you didn't! And oh god, Quinn, Rachel? Are you kidding me with this shit? Do you want to send us all to therapy? Jesus fucking Christ." She couldn't help but notice the irony in the fact that yesterday Rachel was preaching to her about things changing. Well, it looked like more things were about to change for Rachel than she knew.

Santana dropped onto the couch, settling into the cushions. Quinn lowered herself next to her. Santana put her feet up on Quinn's lap, only to have Quinn push them off and get up to start pacing again.

"Okay, Headcase, whenever you're ready. I'll just get a magazine or something." Santana returned her feet to the couch cushions and grabbed for the nearest US Weekly. As soon as it was in her hands, though, Quinn appeared in front of her and snatched it from her grasp.

"I kissed her. On her face. With her there. In her face," Quinn stammered.

"You're clearly handling it very well."

"Oh shut up." Quinn threw the magazine back on Santana's lap and ran her hands over her face, dropping to the couch again.

"Did she run out?"

Quinn groaned. "No."

"Oh fuck, is she still here? Jesus, Quinn, I thought - " But she was cut off by the sound of Quinn mumbling something into her hands. Santana was losing patience, and swatted Quinn with the magazine. "Speak up, Romeo, I can't hear you."

"I said," Quinn lifted her head miserably. "I ran out."

Santana blinked. "You ran out of your own house?" Quinn's pathetic whimper was a clear yes. Santana giggled instinctively, unable to control it.

She reminded herself to thank Rachel later for providing her with the first bout of genuine laughter since Sectionals.

Quinn decidedly ignored Santana's little outburst. "When I calmed down and came back, she was gone. Then I got all… pacey." She frowned.

Silence settled over them, and Santana put her feet up on Quinn's knees again, trapping her in place. Quinn didn't push them off. "So, uh. Why?" The meaning was implied.

"I don't know," Quinn whispered. Santana couldn't tell if she was lying or not. Quinn was the only one who could fool her.

-

Santana met Mike in the parking lot after the last day of school before break. She knew Brittany and he had been spending time together, and they would continue to now that they didn't have school.

"How is she?" That was the only greeting she could think of.

Mike sighed. "Okay. Still kind of sad. I think she blames herself, a little bit, about… whatever happened." He gestured at Santana, and suddenly Santana had the insane urge to go find some finger paint and run through the hallways with him, leaving handprints on all the lockers. It'd be nice to be four again, without any real troubles.

She shook her head, suddenly realizing what Mike had said. "She… what? Are you kidding?"

"I dunno, Santana, she won't talk about it. She's not hanging out with anyone from the glee club anymore. And… she just keeps saying that she pushed you, and that she was an idiot to be surprised when, y'know, you actually went."

Santana pressed a hand to her head. This felt very much like a headache.

A very emotionally confusing headache.

Mike just let her have the moment, and suddenly she wanted to change the subject. She snapped out of it, and back to attention.

"Are you okay?"

"Will you stop asking me that?" He cuffed her on the shoulder, but before he could walk away, she grabbed his hand in hers.

"You're taking care of her, right?"

Mike looked at her dubiously, as if he couldn't believe she was asking him this.

"Right, right; sorry. Silly question."

"Should be you, though," he said softly, as Santana held his arm in her hands and they walked through the parking lot together.

Santana didn't really know what to say to that. She didn't have time to come up with anything anyways, because Rachel Berry was waiting for her at her car. Mike looked between them, and excused himself when he saw Rachel's expression.

"Santana, I need to talk to you."

Santana had managed to outgrow the urge to sprint in the other direction every time Rachel said some variation of that phrase, mostly because the preparation for Sectionals had been endless and they'd spent enough time together for Santana to build up immunity. Like with a vaccine or something.

Plus, actually winning the competition gave the two of them something to be smug about together - instead of just at each other. In a way, it was kind of nice.

Not that she'd ever tell Rachel that. Willingly, anyways.

Especially when she knew what today's topic of conversation would be. And it definitely wasn't going to be a discussion about whether or not they thought Sam could pull off falsetto.

(He couldn't.)

Santana sighed, and clicked her key fob. "Get in."

She opened her door and dropped herself into the driver's seat, Rachel following suit. How much emotional support was she going to have to unwillingly provide to Rachel Berry this school year? Santana didn't know how Brittany did it - care about all these people. Or show it, at least. It's very easy to care about Rachel Berry when she's not two feet away and radiating with nervous energy.

"Spill," Santana began. "I haven't got all day."

"Quinn… kissed me."

"I'm aware."

Rachel looked at her with surprise. "She told you?"

"No, Rachel, as Lima's resident teen lesbian, I can actually identify when any two girls make out within a five mile radius of my vagina."

Rachel scrunched up her nose and tilted her head, getting stuck on the sarcasm.

"Yes, Quinn told me; Jesus," Santana finally sighed. "Apparently it's newsworthy when the repressed Christian ex-cheerleader macks on the Jewish loser geek."

"Santana, if you're going to be rude, then I may as well leave now and spare my own feelings. I just thought that we were…" she trailed off, grabbing for the door handle. Santana faintly wondered if she was going to say 'friends,' and she had no idea what to make of that. "...that you could relate to this," Rachel finished lamely. "That… you wouldn't make fun of me."

Santana felt the guilt wash over her at Rachel's words, friends or not. Truthfully, though, she couldn't relate to Rachel. She and Brittany had first kissed when they were 12, in Brittany's backyard, and afterwards, Brittany just smiled at her and held out her pinky.

It wasn't until high school, when Santana fell off the pyramid and Brittany kissed her knee and she saw Quinn Fabray looking that she knew things couldn't really be how she wanted. So she made the rules, which was that there were no rules, and let high school stereotypes work in their favor. They were untouchable, anyways. She got themselves protected when she bought Quinn a slushie after practice.

Now, of course, they were completely vulnerable, and Santana had shattered all the rules anyways. She had no idea what they were now, or could be. Especially since she still hadn't talked to Sugar, and Sugar was making no effort to call her, either.

Somehow she figured Rachel and Quinn wouldn't follow the same path.

"Look, I'm sorry," Santana mumbled. "I'm not good with advice. Why didn't you go to Brittany? She's better at this kind of thing."

Rachel took a deep breath. "Well, Brittany's not really talking to anyone right now. And also because I figured Brittany would just be supportive and tell me to follow my heart. And this is the first time in my life that I don't know what that means."

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a few moments after that, and Santana hoped Rachel would just start talking so they could get this over with. Finally, she spoke. Her voice was small.

"When did you know you wanted to be with Brittany?"

Santana exhaled slowly. "The first time she kissed me."

This time it was Rachel's turn. "Oh."

"Not the answer you wanted to hear?" Santana glanced sideways towards Rachel, who was simply staring straight ahead of her.

"I don't know."

"Look, did you like it?"

Rachel chewed at the inside of her cheek. "Yes. I mean, I think so. I was just… making hot chocolate for us - on the stovetop, because that's how you're supposed to do it," she added, detailing this in a way that only Rachel Berry could. "And she just looked at me. All funny. And kissed me. At first it was just pleasant, y'know, but then… then it was like she was trying to suck out my soul. It felt like she was trying to… get inside me and… stay there or something."

Any other day, under any other circumstance, Santana would have made about six dirty jokes and laughed at every one. But today, she just felt bad for Rachel, and thought Quinn was pretty pathetic.

She knew, because she'd felt the same way too. On occasion.

"It was just… stimulating," Rachel finished, and Santana barked out a laugh at her choice of words. Rachel scowled.

"Well, if you're fine with the physical stuff, then it really just boils down to what you think of Quinn as a person," Santana shrugged, still chuckling. "Apparently personality transcends gender, or some shit."

"I just…" Rachel began, and stopped. Santana could tell, by the waver in her voice, that she was on the verge of crying. And Santana didn't keep tissues in her car. Dammit.

"I don't want to be with someone who only sometimes wants to be with me. Again," Rachel added bitterly.

The words sliced through Santana like a knife, as she realized that Rachel's self-preservation tactics had really truly kicked in when it came to love. She'd gotten rid of Finn, and was terrified of getting into the same situation with anyone else - especially Quinn Fabray, Maker of Miserable Lives. Quinn couldn't make herself happy, let alone other people.

And it was a punch to the gut when Santana realized that this could easily have been Brittany telling her these things, last year or so. Santana had always had the control over their relationship in high school. It was Santana who told Brittany sex isn't dating, and kept their hookups defined as just that - hookups. She dated Puck around her time with Brittany, and she knew Brittany thought it was okay. But now she wondered if she trained Brittany to think it was okay, when really, it wasn't.

A lump knotted at the back of Santana's throat.

They sat together in silence as Rachel dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. Finally Santana reached around into the backseat and found a clean cheerleading t-shirt, handing it forward to Rachel.

"That's a good thing," she sighed, picking up their conversation even though minutes of quiet had passed. "Everybody deserves better than that. Even you," she teased lightly, wriggling the shirt in Rachel's face so that she would take it.

"I don't want to ruin your t-shirt," Rachel mumbled.

Santana waved her other hand nonchalantly. "I don't care. I don't like it when you cry."

Rachel took the shirt, and blew her nose into the sleeve. Santana thought about making a joke, but then thought better of it. And made a mental note to do laundry when she got home.

-

Santana decided to go see Quinn again, and hoped that Rachel would've had enough to think about that she wouldn't immediately run to the Fabray house with some sort of confession or grand announcement.

Luckily, Rachel was nowhere to be found, and instead, Quinn was sitting under a blanket, by herself on the couch. Santana settled in next to her, lifting the cover over her legs too.

Finally, Quinn spoke.

"I think… every time I... broke, I just saw her standing there, staring at me. And before, it felt like she was the reason I was breaking. Like she was mocking me. But now… now I feel like she's standing there to help put me back together again."

Santana didn't really know what to say to that, and she couldn't really say anything right away anyways because there was a really big lump stuck in the back of her throat. She swallowed it back, willing her voice to stay steady.

"So… what are you going to do?"

Quinn considered a moment, then shrugged. "Give her a reason to keep standing there."

They sat there a minute longer, and then Quinn echoed herself, barely above a whisper. "I just want her to keep standing there." She scooted down the couch, and leaned her head on Santana's shoulder. Santana found herself tipping her head down to meet Quinn's.

"Can I ask you a question?" Quinn finally said after a moment.

Santana made a non-committal sound in the back of her throat, keeping her head where it was, effectively trapping Quinn in place so she couldn't look at her.

"Why aren't you fighting for Brittany?"

Santana took a deep breath, and considered. Maybe she'd just put it in Quinn's words. She didn't really have any of her own left anyways.

"I don't think she's standing there anymore."

-

The weekend of Rachel's birthday, Quinn threw a party for her. It wasn't nearly like what Brittany put on for Santana; just the glee kids, Mr. Schue, and Ms. Pillsbury, really. Rachel wouldn't have wanted anyone else there, anyways.

It was also lacking alcohol, because of the adults there, and also Rachel's dads were home - just upstairs. They were out of the way enough to have a good time, but certainly not far away enough to allow any sort of misbehaving.

So really, it was kind of the lamest party ever, and totally fitting that Quinn would throw this shindig for Rachel, especially after all that happened.

Right now, anyways, they were sitting on the couch, Rachel holding some presents on her lap, that everyone had chipped in for. Quinn sat on the far end of the couch, holding a mug of something, and staring at her with the worst dipshit-in-love expression that Santana had ever seen. Everyone else sat around on the floor, luckily with their attentions on Rachel as well, and not who was looking at her with goo-goo eyes.

"Quinn, come help me with the guacamole," Santana said suddenly, and Quinn's gaze snapped off Rachel and onto her. "Here. Kitchen. Now."

Quinn stepped over Finn and Sam on the floor, and followed Santana into the kitchen.

"You need to rearrange your face before I do it for you," Santana reached into the fridge and pulled out the tub of guacamole.

"Wait, what? Is that a threat or something?"

Santana shoved the guacamole into Quinn's hands. "You're looking at her like she's the last cookie in the Thin Mint box," she hissed.

"Oh," Quinn said, shaking her head. "Oh. Thanks for telling me. We aren't… y'know. We don't plan on…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's all very nice," Santana replied. "Now go get chips or something; you can't just walk back out there with a tub of guacamole. We're trying to not make you look like an idiot."

"Yes," Quinn confirmed with a nod of her head. "Chips." And she grabbed a bag of Tostito's, and left.

Santana stayed in the kitchen, not particularly caring to rejoin a very quiet and contained party.

"You okay, Santana?" A voice came from the doorway. Santana turned. It was Ms. Pillsbury, gingerly holding a few dirty glasses. She gestured to the sink, asking permission.

"Be my guest; it's not my house," Santana replied, folding her arms.

"You, uh. You seemed to make a lot of progress this year," Ms. Pillsbury said delicately as she rinsed out the cups. She swished some water in them, and reached for the sponge.

"I guess so."

"I know it may seem like… it's all gone away, but… you can get it back. You just don't undo days and months and years of your life. Decisions you make just don't go away."

"Yeah, I know." Like Santana needed reminding.

Ms. Pillsbury sensed the bitterness in her tone, and looked directly at her. She'd even stopped scrubbing. "All decisions, sweetie. The bad ones and the good ones."

Santana wrinkled her nose at the pet name. "D'you think you can manage to sort out all the dickwads at our school?"

"Honestly, Santana, I think you're doing a better job of that than I ever could have. And you haven't even threatened most of them with physical violence, which really is rather uncharacteristic of you."

She shook the water from the glasses, and, somewhat surprisingly, wiped her hands on her skirt. Santana noticed, and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Progress is progress," she said with a shrug, catching Santana's gaze, and then she left Santana alone in the kitchen.

-

Two days before Christmas, Santana got her first phone call from Sugar since her grandmother died. It had been two weeks of stagnant and suffocating silence.

"So I'm guessing we're a finished thing," she said, after Santana had asked her how she was.

"I guess so," Santana whispered.

"Yeah. We're moving back to Philly, anyways, now that grandma… well, y'know."

Santana thought about the B&O Railroad, and how people were always passing through Lima. Sugar was just another one of them. Back on her way to Philadelphia, where there are historical landmarks and city buildings and real people and real cheesesteaks and a whole neighborhood full of gay people. She felt jealous, a little bit.

But also sad.

"Can I just…" Santana cleared the lump out of her throat. "…thank you, I guess?" She sighed, knowing she sounded pretty pathetic. "Coming out is a lot easier when you have a hot girl to make out with."

Sugar laughed, that same laugh that she always seemed to save for when Santana said something particularly idiotic, bitchy, or otherwise socially unacceptable.

"You're quite welcome. I definitely didn't mind it," Sugar replied. "And you should know that you really are better at all this than you think you are. You wore a plaid shirt for me and didn't actually set fire to a miniature golf course. Although you threatened to," she amended.

Santana laughed, and suddenly felt tears spring to her eyes with the pain of happy memories. "I'm gonna miss you. And I'm sorry, again. Still," she said stupidly. She didn't really know which one it was. It might honestly be always. But that's a really lame thing to say to someone.

"I know, I know. I'll be okay. You didn't hurt me that bad. I think I have more complaints with the dinners at Breadstix."

"What the fuck, New Girl, why can't you understand this?" Santana teased, and felt tears actually start to come down her face, as she reverted back to Sugar's old nickname. Remembering all this, and yet undoing it at the same time was tearing a little rip through her heart, and she couldn't stop it no matter how hard she tried.

"I dunno; I guess I just don't belong here."

Santana wiped her hand across her face, catching more tears as they fell. "You're telling me."

They hung up after a few more minutes of conversation, and after Santana had successfully emptied out her tissue container.

There were certain things that Sugar was, and certain things that Sugar wasn't. Primarily, she just wasn't Brittany. But, she was Santana's first girlfriend, and she was Santana's first real experience at genuinely trying to be in a relationship. And she was a good person, who liked Santana exactly as she was, and who didn't try to change her.

There were a lot of things for Santana to regret about the first half of this school year, but dating Sugar was not one of them.

-

Christmas without Brittany sucked. Her dad didn't really do anything for the holidays, and usually Santana ended up at Brittany's house, watching A Charlie Brown Christmas and wondering how that poor fucker couldn't even catch a break at Christmas as they stuffed their faces for the last time before cheerleading practice started back up.

But this year, she didn't have anything to look forward to. She hung out with Quinn and Rachel, who just came off celebrating Hanukkah, and Rachel's birthday, and were in a very strange honeymoon period where they did a lot of touching but not a lot of actual kissing.

It was very weird, and Santana usually excused herself before she actually did see any kissing.

She thought about calling Tina, too, but something told her that she and Puck were otherwise disposed.

Mike came over, on Christmas Eve, and told Santana that Brittany had been asking to make sure she was okay because she knew Christmas at the Lopez house was not exactly full of carols and cheer. She was right; her dad was at the hospital, working the ER. Sometimes Santana wondered if he actually requested the holidays.

But then Mike showed up on her doorstep, and she just let him inside, and together they watched Charlie Brown pick out his pathetic little tree for the Christmas pageant.

-

New Year's Eve came quickly, and honestly it felt a lot like Christmas Eve, except this time she was pretty sure Mike was spending it with Brittany. Santana chuckled darkly at the thought that Mike was splitting his time between them, as if they were divorced parents. And they kind of were. Their relationship had burned bright again, imploded completely, and then scattered away like dust on the wind. They couldn't seem to grab all the pieces of it and put it back together, even if they tried.

And so Santana found herself watching a horror movie, one that Kurt had left over a few days ago. He was the only one other than Mike that Santana even made any agreement to see, because he was the only one that wasn't coupled up in a nauseating new romance. So he came over and brought horror movies, and encouraged Santana to yell at all the characters with him.

It made her feel marginally better.

But on New Year's Eve, she was by herself, holding her knees to her chest and slowly working her way through a bag of popcorn.

And then the doorbell rang. Santana grumbled. She'd accepted more visitors at this house so far this year than she'd really care to think about. Answering the door was seriously one of her least favorite things to do. But she heaved herself up off the couch, and ambled to the door.

Brittany was standing on the other side of the threshold, wearing a ridiculous furry hat and holding her giant stuffed hedgehog.

Santana didn't know if she should immediately laugh, or cry.

"Can I come in?"

Santana stepped aside, making a path.

"Is your dad working?"

"Yeah."

Brittany sat down on the couch, clutching the hedgehog to her chest, fuzzy spears poking out from her arms, every which way.

"At the end of last school year, I really wanted to work on me," she began, looking up at Santana, who stood with her hands folded in front of her, the picture of a guilty child. "I thought I could hang out with all the glee kids, and try new things, and do all this stuff I wanted to do to make my last year of high school really special."

Santana nodded, a lump in her throat. She sensed she wasn't the one supposed to be doing the talking right now, so she just let Brittany finish.

"I thought the best thing for me would be to not date you," Brittany exhaled in a pointed rush of air. "Even though I had never really done it before."

Santana nodded again. Understatement of the century. Making out for football players hardly qualified as dating. Although it had been enjoyable… for other reasons.

"But Santana, the thing I should have tried was dating you. My happiest memories this year are from when we were dating… even if it was an accident."

Santana felt tears start to slide down her face. She made a mental note to look into having her tear ducts removed. Surely they'd crap out from exhaustion soon anyways.

Instead she just said, in an embarrassingly quiet voice: "I learned from the best."

"But I hated that I was so happy, because you were doing all this with someone else, You got so happy when you were with someone else," Brittany started crying, and Santana rushed forward to grab her hands and sit with her on the couch. "And I just wanted to support you. I wanted to be your best friend, in whatever way you needed me, and it wasn't fair to Sugar, or you-"

"Are you kidding me with this?" Santana hiccuped. "It wasn't fair to you, B. This was always supposed to be you. Yeah, maybe I was standing next to Sugar on that coffee table at my birthday, but it was you who planned the party, and you who cheered me on, and you who always knew the truth. I couldn't have done any of this without you. B, you spent the whole year working on me."

"You helped," Brittany sniffled, and Santana laughed.

"A little," she admitted. A lot.

"But I never want to have to choose between you or me. I don't want to be early, or late. I want to be on time. I want to choose both of us."

It was Brittany logic through and through, but Santana was squarely on the same page. "Okay, we can do that. I choose us, too. I want to be with you, Britts." The words came rushing out of her as easily as they had eight months ago, but this time she ran a palm against her cheek to wipe away the tears, because it didn't feel like her heart was bottoming out this time. "I always have. And I'm ready, now. We're ready now."

Santana gently pried that stupid hedgehog out of Brittany's grasp, and maneuvered herself in between them, wrapping Brittany up in her arms. They held each other tightly, on Santana's couch, just like they had a month ago on Brittany's bed. Except there were fewer tears now, and happier ones too.

"Santana, it's New Year's Eve," Brittany mumbled in her ear.

"Yes," Santana affirmed.

"It's time for another new start."

Santana pulled back. "Can it be our last one, though?"

Brittany smiled, genuinely, with a giggle. "Yes."

Then Brittany leaned in, slowly, and pressed her lips to Santana's, kissing sweetly and unhurriedly and for no other purpose than to revel in a possible future together, just... passing through.

And Santana's heart rattled in her chest again, finally thudding in time with Brittany's.


End file.
